Throughout The Years
by agentwhalesong
Summary: Mulder's perception of Scully (and of himself) as years go by, starting from his first impression in the Pilot. Since the timeline in this show can be a little confusing, I'm using the years when the episodes aired as a reference, which is why the first chapter is set in 1993. Canon compliant.
1. Maybe, just maybe

**1993**

It was early in the morning, much earlier than he was supposed to be at work, but the events of the past few days still hadn't left his mind. As he sat in the semidarkness of his office, chewing on a sunflower seed, he replayed those events in his mind, trying to form a profile of the person that had come into his life with no warning other than a memo saying he would get a new partner. As unwelcomed as that had been, he couldn't hide his surprise when he saw her.

Dana Scully was not at all what he was expecting. She came in, all five feet three of her, and shook his hand, making eye contact and carrying a soft smile on her face. They always say people who smile are more easily trusted and he had to agree. But smiles, no matter how beautiful they were, wouldn't fool him that easily. She was a beautiful woman, he noticed, with big blue eyes that inspired confidence. From what he had read, she was also very smart. Not everyone could rewrite Einstein and get away with it. It had been a bold move on her part and she had passed with flying colors. Maybe the FBI was really onto him this time and she would be the one to discredit his work completely. They were really trying hard, anyway.

He observed her reaction to everything he said, to everything he proposed and to everything he showed her. What called his attention was that she seemed genuinely interested and intrigued all the time, which was a nice difference from her predecessors. Was it possible that she was just another pawn in the government's charade to hide the truth? Her quirky smiles looked a little rebel to him and he liked it. He kept that thought in the back of his mind for further assessment.

During the case, he kept her in the dark for the most part, only giving her pieces of information she really needed to hear, and he saw how much that frustrated her. Maybe it was because she couldn't wait to write all his crazy talk on her little report. But maybe it was something else, maybe she really wanted to help. Maybe, just maybe.

He had been studying the case files when she knocked on his motel room. It took him a while to understand what she wanted when she disrobed in front of him and his eyes unconsciously hovered over her body. Was she trying to seduce him? If that was the case, she might succeed, if he was being honest with himself. He tried to shake that thought away as he realized she was looking over her shoulder, indicating with her eyes where she really wanted him to look. He hoped she hadn't noticed the way he had been looking at her.

"Mosquito bites," he said, almost laughing. He knew it was a horrible thing to think, but it was somewhat of a relief to see that she was truly scared. It meant she believed, if not him, then at least that something was happening.

He offered his bed to her so that she could keep warm while he told his story and she accepted promptly. As she made herself comfortable, for a brief moment he wondered what the sheets would smell like when she went back to her room. He tried to put away that strange thought as he summarized his life story to her.

"I'm telling you this, Scully, because you need to know, because of what you've seen." He reinforced, when he told her about Samantha.

He knew he had a reputation, a nickname given to him. Spooky. He didn't know why, but he needed her to see him beyond that nickname, and he was not entirely sure if it was for mere professional reasons. Maybe if she believed him, he would still stand a chance, at the bureau and in life in general. Maybe, just maybe. Thinking of her as his savior was so ridiculous he decided to keep that thought in the back of his mind too, at least for the time being. It was not normal to feel that way about someone you've just met, was it?

A crime scene and a motel fire later, they found themselves in a cemetery, in the middle of the night.

Out, in the pouring rain, she tried to make sense of his theory. Suddenly, he saw her face change, as if something had clicked in her mind, like a light had been turned on in there and everything suddenly made sense to her. And then she laughed, a hearty laugh that warmed his heart. He couldn't help but laugh with her. By the time he suggested they get out of the cemetery, he was sure he had gained her trust.

Now, sitting in the semidarkness of his office, he realized he felt more alive than he had felt in a long, long time. He had always been passionate about his work and about his quest to find Samantha, but for the first time in his life, he felt like he had an ally, for as crazy as it might sound. Because it was crazy to think that a total skeptic was an ally to a man that believed in little green men and Bigfoot, but maybe, just maybe, that's what she was. Had the government been caught in their own trap? Had they finally found someone to debunk his work, without realizing that what was really at risk of being debunked was their own conspiracies?

He took another seed from the bag and chewed on it, thinking of how he had just picked up the phone the previous night to tell her the government was once again trying to hide everything.

 _You shouldn't be so open with someone you don't trust entirely yet, Fox._

But it had been so long since he'd had someone to share those things with, and even longer since he had had someone willing to listen to him, that it just felt the natural thing to do. After all, they were partners, right? Partners tell each other everything.

 _Not after 11 p.m. on a weekday, Fox._

He tried not to think much about it because the truth was that he liked her a little more than he had expected, a little more than he should. He had a feeling that she felt the same. Maybe they could become friends one day. Maybe, just maybe. He also kept that thought in the back of his mind for further assessment.


	2. Breathe again

**1994**

It wasn't until Melissa pointed it out that he started to think about his true feelings for her sister. Melissa and Dana couldn't be any more different, and yet, it was as if they were pieces of the same puzzle, completing each other.

He couldn't help but draw the same analogy to describe his own relationship with the younger Scully sister: Dana Scully was the missing part of his puzzle, the one he had never known was missing until she came into his life. It was her skepticism that kept his work going, her rationalism that kept his feet on the ground, her science that made the success rate of the X-Files cases so high that the government had trouble shutting it down. He had never known he needed someone to challenge him that way and that that was what was going to turn his work into what it was at the moment.

He chuckled, thinking of how he had been right in his previous assessment. The government had indeed been caught in their own trap by sending her to work with him. Now that he thought of it, he had also been right in his other assessments: she liked him too and they had become good friends.

As he waited outside her hospital room, he remembered some of the conversations they'd shared, all the bickering they had while they tried to solve a case, all the small, shy smiles she threw his way every time he shamelessly flirted with her. He didn't know when exactly he had started doing it or why, he just knew that a day couldn't go by without some sort of innuendo on his part, and he lived for her reactions. She tried to hide it behind an eye-roll sometimes, but he always saw her lips betraying her a little and moving slightly upwards, and, sometimes, if he was really lucky, she would flirt right back. Their banter had become his favorite part of their relationship.

He invaded her personal space more often than he cared to admit and, although she didn't seem to like when other people invaded her space, she let him. More than that, he felt she actually welcomed him, as if he belonged there and nowhere else. He missed that. They hadn't seen much of each other since the X-Files were shut down, but now they were open again and she was back. He couldn't wait to hear her prove his theories wrong again.

He heard the door next to him open and two women got out of the room. Maggie and Melissa smiled at him and said nothing, but Melissa gave him a knowing look, as if saying 'Go ahead, she's waiting. Tell her.'

He waited until they were out of his view to stand up and go inside.

The sunlight that entered the room made her pale skin glow and, even dressed in her hospital gown and looking tired after fighting so much for her life, she looked ethereal.

Her eyes were closed, her head was facing the window, and he thought that maybe he should just let her rest.

 _I'll stay just a little longer._

He sat down on a chair by her bed, watching as the natural rhythm of her breath made her chest go up and down slowly, not like the artificial breathing the machine was doing for her when she got to the hospital. He realized that breathing was an underrated feature, one that was taken for granted most of the time. Seeing her breathe on her own was peaceful. He didn't believe in God, but he said a silent prayer to whomever or whatever was responsible for bringing her back to him.

She was here. She was back. She was alive. She was well.

He reached out and rubbed the back of the hand that laid beside her in bed lightly, hoping she wouldn't wake up. He wondered if the freckles he saw in the back of her hand had always been there and he had never noticed.

There was still a lot he didn't know about her and almost losing her made him feel different, made him want to talk to her more, to have her closer, to protect her. He knew she was a grown, independent woman and that she could defend herself, but if he could prevent something like this from happening again, he would.

He promised himself that he would go after every single one of the sons of bitches who had done this to her. Even though Melissa tried to talk him out of it, it was different now because she was alive and well. He had never thought of himself as a vindictive guy, but when it came to family, he would go to the ends of the world and do whatever it took to keep them safe.

Family.

A strange word to use, but that's what he felt. She was his family. She was his best friend, his confident, the only one who seemed to like his presence when everyone else turned away. He loved her like he loved his sister, like he loved his mother, like he loved the very few friends he still had. No, that was not the kind of love he felt for her, it was something different, something more. He shook his head to try and shake those thoughts away because he couldn't face those feelings just yet. The overwhelming feeling of almost losing her and finally having her back was enough for now, he would deal with the other feelings later.

Her voice reached his ears like the sound of good music and he smiled, surprised. He had been so immersed in his thoughts he hadn't realized she had woken up and was looking at him.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She smiled at him and her smile lit her whole face. He smiled fondly back at her.

"I'm just very glad you're okay."

She squeezed his hand briefly and then went back to sleep. He paid attention to his lungs filling with air and then emptying out. It felt good to finally breathe again.


	3. Jealous

**1996**

They had disagreed. A lot. A lot more than they ever had. Did the alignment of the planets influence in any way? He thought so, but his always-so-skeptic partner obviously didn't agree. They were still snapping at each other, even as they left the town, even as the past couple of days got behind them and all they were left with was extreme exhaustion and frustration. And tension.

Before this case he had thought it was all in his head, that the way she responded to his flirting was just her way of joking, of telling him she was onto him, kind of a friendly reminder that she was out of his league (because honestly, she was). But now…

He had seen a side of her he had never seen before: she was jealous. At first, he thought all her anger had come from not wanting to work the case, from her thinking it was too stupid to begin with, from her being frustrated for having been dragged down to that town for no reason whatsoever. He thought she was angry at him and at herself. But then there was detective White. He saw the way Scully looked at her: challenging, superior… territorial? He had certainly acted territorial towards her before, and he had even admitted it to her at some point, but she had never acted territorial towards him. No, no, this was all in his head, somehow this planet alignment thing had gotten to them and messed up their minds, making them feel things they didn't really mean to feel, things they didn't _want_ to feel, things they kept too hard and too deep in the back of their minds because they couldn't admit they felt, not even for a second. But if he knew that what he was feeling was true, his subconscious becoming conscious, wasn't the same happening to her? Was she really jealous?

Any doubts he had about that vanished the moment she entered his room and caught detective White on top of him. He didn't know why he felt the urge of running after her, not because she said there had been another murder, but because he needed to say it was not what she thought, giving her explanations for things that didn't even happen, that wouldn't have happened. If only she knew what was really inside his mind, she would know that he would have chosen her to be the one on top of him instead of detective White. Truth was, jealous, angry Scully turned him on. A lot. Of course, he would never admit it, to her or to anyone. Admitting it to himself was hard enough. But the fact that she was jealous sent thoughts to his mind, things he hadn't considered before: did she think of him the same way he thought of her? Had her feelings for him changed somehow in the past year too? Had they always been there and he hadn't noticed? He couldn't really tell, but he knew something had changed in that town, cosmic powers being the cause of it or not.

The tension was so strong it was almost palpable. It was the same tension he used to feel when he stood too close to her, the one he used to feel when she whispered something in his ear, the one he used to feel when they accidently brushed by each other in passing. The sexual tension that had always existed, but that they had always kept at bay, brushing off as if it were contagious, as if it were too powerful to be let out. He was feeling all that tension now, in the passenger's seat of this rental car, while she drove away with her little feet at a speed he had never seen her drive before.

He wondered what she would say if she could read his thoughts. Would she confirm them? Would she deny them? Would she say she was thinking the same exact thing? Would she admit she was jealous? Would she say that yes, she would have liked to be the one on top of him instead of detective White?

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, chewing on a sunflower seed. The sound of him cracking the seed between his teeth made her give him a killing kind of look, the one she reserved for people who pissed her off the most. But there was something else in that look too. Her eyes were a darker shade, her pupils a little too dilated, and he could have sworn she stared at his lower lip longer than necessary. She turned her eyes to the road again as she was caught staring and he couldn't suppress a cocky smile. She had tried to say 'Stop doing that' with her eyes, but all she had really said was that she was curious about his skills with that sunflower seed, curious about what else his mouth could do…

Suddenly, he realized his thoughts had gone too far.

 _Get a grip on yourself, Mulder, she deserves better._

This woman had sacrificed a lot for him, she had put herself on the line for him more times than he could count. She amazed him every day with her questions, with her loyalty, with her way of seeing life... She deserved more respect than his dirty thoughts on a rented car in the middle of the night, thoughts that he still blamed on planets aligning because it was too scary to admit that he was indeed having them on his own volition.

He sat up, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair. Then, he heard her voice, sharp as a knife, although a little bit softer than the one she had been using with him in the past few hours.

"Why are you so quiet, Mulder? Thinking of detective White?"

He smiled. He had not been imagining things.

"Are you jealous, Scully?"

The question left his mouth before he could control it and he admonished himself for it.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out of it. Then, just as he thought she had let it slide, her voice reached his ears.

"What if I am?"

He saw her mouth move upwards a little, almost forming a smile, but her eyes kept on the road.

He chuckled to himself, but he didn't answer. They would be entering dangerous territory if he did. He knew she knew that too, by the way she sat up straight and rolled her head a little to alleviate the tension. He offered to drive before he could keep thinking of other ways he could help her alleviate the tension. She accepted promptly, apparently forgetting all that they had said to each other in the past days. She pulled over, they changed places, and she slept the entire rest of the trip home.

He allowed himself to get closer to her and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before he woke her up when they got to her apartment. She smiled in her sleep and he thought that was enough for now. At least now he knew.


	4. There's never a forever thing

**1997**

"Yeah, but I'm no Eddie Van Blundht either. Am I?"

He shouldn't have said anything, but the words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them. He had hoped she would just ignore it, like she ignored all his other flirtatious comments that seemed to step out of line, in the name of their partnership, in the name of their friendship. Only this time she didn't. The awkwardness between them eventually faded, but one day she unexpectedly invited him to her place after work, saying they needed to talk. When he asked about what, she had just said 'about that Eddie Van Blundht thing'.

He didn't know why, but he was nervous.

He wished he hadn't fallen in love with her.

Falling in love with her made things messy, his judgment cloudy in several instances. He remembered her words to him after she went and slept with some other guy named Ed.

"Not everything is about you, Mulder."

She was right, it wasn't. But up until that point he hadn't realized how their lives had basically become one in his head, even though they didn't really share anything in common apart from work. But if his work had become her life, and his work was his life, weren't their lives intertwined to a point of no return? She was the rational side of his brain, the science that grounded his beliefs, the other half of his soul in someone else's body.

He had never really thought about soulmates until Melissa Rydell came along. Was she really his soulmate or was he just too taken by the case, too influenced to believe otherwise? He still couldn't wrap his head around it, or why he just knew the things he did in that case, like Deja vus coming back to him, but he was shaken. Could anyone not named Dana Scully be his soulmate? The only honest answer he could find to that question was that maybe he was trying so hard not to fall in love with Scully that his mind would believe anything that could provide him with that comfort, even if it meant replacing Scully with a stranger who he had never seen in his life.

Sometimes he wished he were more like Scully, more skeptical about the things he saw, even about the things he felt. She had told him after that incident that she wouldn't change a day of her life with him, even if she knew for certain. He saw the wisdom in that: what is the use of thinking about the life that could have been instead of living the life that actually is? This was one of the many reasons why he had fallen in love with her. It had come without warning, without him realizing it, and now there was no turning back.

She raised her glass to clink it against his and smiled, the kind of smile that brightened up her whole face and warmed his heart. He smiled back, wondering if there was a way of keeping her smile in a box, immortalizing it. How would she react if he suddenly asked her if he could take a picture of her? Would she laugh? Would she give him awkward looks and close off again?

She had been more open to him since she found out about her cancer. They had become closer, if that was even possible, and he was grateful that she decided to share her life with him more than she did before, more than she did with anyone else. But still there were times like this, when she invited him to her apartment and wouldn't tell him exactly why, moments when he didn't know if he should hope for the best or expect the worst. He was always expecting the worst these days.

The words she wrote in her journal hadn't left his mind since he read it. They played over and over in his head like a broken record. He even heard her voice reading them to him, although that had never actually happened.

Her diary had been her declaration, everything she hadn't said in the past four years fit into some pages of a notebook that would probably be thrown out soon. He could see those sentences as clear as day every time he closed his eyes and it hurt every damn time.

Her writing about it meant that she was trying to accept that she was going to die, that her disease was going to consume her beautiful, brilliant brain at some point, that she would cease to exist, and that she would leave him soon. He couldn't accept that, he never would.

He reached out, unconsciously, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the same way he had allowed himself to do once when she fell asleep in their rental car, right after that case where they had their disagreement caused by planets aligning. She had smiled in her sleep then and she smiled now too, eyes wide open, blue orbits also smiling at him. He liked seeing this side of her she didn't show often.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

He was finally able to ask. 'About that Eddie Van Blundht thing' hadn't given him much of a clue, if he was being honest.

She took a sip of her wine and blushed a little, but she held on to his gaze as she spoke.

"I was going to let Fox Mulder kiss me, not Eddie Van Blundht. I hope you know that."

She lowered her eyes to her glass again, coyly.

Suddenly her inviting him to her place made sense. In the past two weeks he had watched her visit her old friends, go to church when she got a chance, call her brother during work time, help Maggie out with something she could do on her own… He hadn't seen it then, but he saw it now: she was trying to make amends to people for fear she might not have longer, for fear she might leave unfinished business behind. He never thought he would be in the list of people she was trying to make amends to because, if anything, he should be making amends to her.

He had no question now that this had been caused by the last case they had worked on. She had had a vision about the fourth victim, which, according to his theory, meant she was near death herself. She had fought against her belief in that, but deep down he knew she did believe. Rarely had he seen her believe in something, and now he wished she didn't.

He sighed, feeling sad all of a sudden, regretful that they hadn't had this conversation before, when they had more time to figure things out. Her admission that she wanted him to kiss her made his stomach flip.

He put his index finger under her chin to make her look up at him again.

"I don't want to lose you."

He said, softly, brushing his fingers against the skin of her jaw slowly.

His sentence had a double meaning and he knew it. It could either mean he didn't want to lose her to death or to something they might do that might interfere in their friendship, their partnership, what they meant to each other.

He saw tears in her eyes and he suddenly knew what she was feeling. She had always been a rock, his rock, but now she was afraid, vulnerable, and he knew it when he looked into her eyes that she was frustrated she couldn't assure him of anything. For the first time she couldn't say that he wouldn't lose her, because maybe he would.

"I don't want to break your heart."

She finally said with a sob.

He understood. Her answer also could be interpreted in two different ways. She didn't want to break his heart by leaving him when she died, and she didn't want to break his heart in case things got too complicated for them to handle. She didn't need to say it because he knew her well enough by now to know that, besides her fear of him betraying her, her other greatest fear was that she would break his heart for whatever reason, even if he was willing, even if he welcomed it. He couldn't tell her that his heart was already broken by the very idea that she might be gone soon.

He wanted to kiss her for all she was worth, but he knew that it might complicate things. So, he leaned in and kissed her cheek instead, slowly, taking his time. He heard her sigh as she let a tear stream down her face, wetting his lips in the process. Then she turned her face a little and the corner of their mouths met briefly. She didn't move any further and he respected her decision, just staying there, his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers.

He closed his eyes for a bit and heard her whisper. If they hadn't been so close, he might have missed it.

"I just wanted to make sure you knew."

She didn't need to complete her sentence with "before I go" for him to understand that was what she meant.

She kissed his cheek afterwards and allowed herself to cry as he held her in his arms. He admired her strength, but he thought she was too hard on herself sometimes. Having her trust him with her feelings right now was the most he could ever ask of her and he was thankful for it.

He nodded, more to himself than to her, holding her in a tight embrace, hoping against hope that this wouldn't be the last time they talked about it. He needed her to be okay.

He promised himself right then that, if she got through this, he would make sure they had this conversation again in the future, no matter how long it took for them to get there.


	5. The Science of Miracles and Dancing

**1997 (Bonus)**

No extraterrestrial life of any kind could be blamed for the interruption in time he was experiencing right now. It was her eyes, mesmerizing him, grounding him to the dance floor and making him float all at the same time.

She stared at him with an intensity he hadn't seen before, with so much care and so much love that he almost broke the small distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. She was smiling softly, her teeth showing a little as he stared at her lips, at her eyes, at her nose and then back at her lips, her eyes following his in an endless loop he never wanted to end.

Holding her so close, with one of her hands on his shoulder and the other one holding his, he could almost forget all they had been through in the past year, he could almost forget that he had almost lost her again.

Almost.

Those had been the most painful months of his life.

Between the uncertainty of her treatment and her hanging on to life, he found himself sobbing in the corners, praying to an invisible force he didn't even believe in for her to be okay because she had to be okay. When the news of her remission came, he broke down again, but this time the tears meant joy, relief, gratefulness. He had wanted to believe so badly that it ended up being true. He had always been intrigued by the fact that she didn't believe in anything but would blindly believe in God, just as much as she had always been intrigued by him believing in everything but God, as she said to him once with slightly different words. He didn't know what went on in her mind exactly in that respect, but he was starting to get where her faith came from because he believed in miracles now. It was funny to think that a total skeptic was the one who made him believe in miracles, and even funnier to think that she might not even believe in them herself.

He chuckled and was rewarded with a puzzled, curious look from her. He shook his head as a way of saying it was nothing, but for some reason her look motivated him to do what he did next: he spun her around with one arm, making her glide through the dance floor. She let out a giggle he was not expecting, and he felt his knees go weak. If only she knew what the simple sound of her voice did to him…

If anyone asked, he would deny it, but he was kind of glad he had gotten hurt a few weeks ago while hunting mothmen. Not because of the injury itself, of course, because that hurt like hell, but because it had gotten her to sing to him, even if it was at his request. She thought she couldn't sing and, although he would have to agree, he also thought it was adorable. He would also never admit that he was not only trying to make sure she was awake, but that he was using her voice as a grounding sound, as a reminder that she was alive, a reminder to never take her for granted. He promised himself he never would.

He pulled her back to him after the quick spin, wondering what science on Earth could explain what she unconsciously did to him. There might be a scientific explanation for this, right? Her beloved science, the one that had apparently saved her, was the same science that drove him mad sometimes, both with frustration and amusement.

More often than not, when she said all those difficult, science-y words and explanations out loud, he would joke about it, saying that she was turning him on. When instead of turning to science she would surprise him by first checking signs of witchcraft, macumba, black magic, shamanism, divination, Wicca, and all things related, it would do more than turn him on - it would get a 'marry me' to escape his mouth before he could stop it.

He would give anything to have seen her face when she heard his words over the phone. Did she roll her eyes? Did she smile before saying that she was hoping for something a little more helpful? Did she close her eyes before speaking because she couldn't take his comment seriously? She always took his comments with a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle, or maybe a small smile, so he always knew he was still on safe ground, even if deep down he meant every word he said. He wondered if her soft chuckles or smiles also meant that deep down she believed him but preferred not to think about it. He sincerely hoped that was what they meant.

Now, thinking about all this, he realized that Dana Scully had changed a lot herself in the past 5 years, but she had also changed him in so many ways that he probably wouldn't recognize himself if he were put face to face with his younger version. Who would have known that such a tiny person would come into his life and cause such a huge revolution in his world?

He considered letting her know that he thought of her as the one who completed him, the one who held him together, the one who made him a whole person, but now was not the time. For now, he was glad that time had stopped and that they were stuck in each other's presence, soaking in each other's light and warmth. He would give anything for time to stop more often.

His hand pressed against the small of her back, holding her safely while he swayed them both to the rhythm of the song that faded away in the distance made him feel safe, made him feel wanted, made him feel loved. He hadn't felt like this in a long, long time.

There could be many scientific explanations for everything in the world and he was sure she knew 90% of them, but he was also certain that only he had the answer for this specific event: it was definitely her eyes preventing time from moving forward right now. She never looked away, not even for a second, and he felt the connection he had with her deepen, creating roots inside his body, her opening smile making these roots grow and attach themselves to every bit of his brain, her heartbeat against his reminding him that she was alive and that, at least for now, she was safe.

He smiled widely at that thought, leaning forward a little, almost bringing their foreheads together, almost letting himself be carried away by the moment, almost forgetting there were people around.

Almost.

Suddenly, Cher stopped singing to accept the crowd's applause and he just knew their moment had been broken, that they had to go back to the reality of being just friends and partners, albeit platonic.

He reluctantly let go of her, slowly, while her gaze fell lower and lower until it met her feet. If he didn't know better, he would say she was embarrassed.

She was already disentangling their hands when he grasped hers again, firmly, before she could take it away. Then he took it to his lips and kissed it, making her blush slightly.

"Thanks for the dance, Miss Scully."

She chuckled at his gallantry and then he let go of her hand, just in time for them to see The Great Mutato coming back to them from the stage. They still had to finish this part of the job, but at least they had been able to forget the world for the eternity that 2 minutes allowed.

He made a mental note to take her out to dance properly one day, when they allowed the walls around them to crumble, when their metaphorical dance around each other came to an end and they allowed themselves to feel whatever they thought they couldn't feel right now.

It sounded like a good plan.


	6. A Lonely Semptember

**1998**

The first time he had had a real opportunity to kiss her was a few months ago. The FBI had finally found a way of splitting them up for good, and she was going to leave. How crazy was it that he had almost lost her so many times to abduction, to monsters, to cancer, to rebel alien races, to death, but what was actually going to take her away from him was life itself? He couldn't let that happen.

Scully had once told him that she thought believing was the easy part and that what she needed was proof. So, maybe, if he got enough proof, he could make her stay. It was why he had half-drunkenly decided to go to her apartment at 3 o'clock in the morning and had persuaded her to go with him to a place where corn crops grew in the middle of nowhere. She had followed him even not wanting to, even knowing her career was at stake. He thought that she too was trying to find a way of staying, even though she was saying she wanted to go.

But night had turned into day and the FBI had reaffirmed their choice, as had she. She was quitting, she was going to go back to medicine, she was going to a complete different life that didn't involve him in any way because she thought there was nothing left for her. In the beginning, when he had considered leaving the FBI when the X-Files were shut down for the first time, she had told him she considered more than a professional loss if he left. Didn't she know the feeling was mutual? Apparently, she didn't.

It was why he had spat out all that was inside of him, telling her how she had kept him honest, how she had made him a whole person. He had never intended for it to be said like that, in the heat of the moment, but desperate times called for desperate measures, right? He had decided right then it was time to take a shot, it was his last chance. If she had more than professional reasons to stay, maybe she would. He took his time, leaning forward slowly just in case she decided it was not what she wanted. But it was, he could see it in her eyes. She leaned forward, too, just as slowly as he did. But then…

He could laugh at the fact that a bee had decided their fate for them if it weren't so damn tragic. A fucking bee! He hated insects in general, but since then, bees had been at the top of his list. The bee had led to Antarctica, which, in the end, was what had actually made her stay, when he thought about it. Another one of life's ironies.

When they came back, they didn't touch the subject of the kiss that had almost happened, nor did he try to kiss her again. They simply chose to stay in the limbo in which they had been for the last 6 years, safely holding on to their fears instead of letting go. He wondered if she ever thought about it, too.

He had gone to Antarctica for her, she had gone to the Bermuda Triangle for him, but they kept running from each other when they were in the same room. Now, sitting in his hospital bed, he thought that it was funny and almost embarrassing that Antarctica and the Bermuda Triangle seemed less intimidating to them than their feelings for one another.

He chuckled at that thought and then touched his jaw, almost feeling her strong fist in there. It still hurt a little and he wondered how much of a masochist he would be considered if he wished for the pain to never go away. It was not the pain itself that he didn't want to let go of, but the pain was a reminder.

A kiss. It had happened, it was real.

She was going to argue for the rest of her life that it was all in his head, a hallucination for having been in freezing cold water for so long and almost drowning, but he knew the truth. He had kissed her, and she had kissed him back. He just wished it had happened with 1998 Scully instead of 1939 Scully.

He touched his own lips, remembering how they had felt against hers. Would he ever have another chance?

Having kissed 1939 Scully made him bolder. She had not only saved the world, but also saved him, much like 1998 Scully was always doing, every single day, without even knowing it. In the beginning of their partnership he had had that two-second thought that she might be his savior and now he realized that his gut feeling had never failed him. Time had proven him right.

It was also that sudden boldness and his gut feeling that had made him decide to do what he did the previous night: he had to tell her, she had to know.

He had finally told Scully that he loved her, but she didn't believe him.

Of course she didn't, why was he expecting anything different? When had she ever believed him the first time he said anything, especially if it sounded so absurd to her ears?

It hurt him that she seemed to find the idea so absurd. 'Oh brother' wasn't exactly what he was expecting to hear from her, not after all they had been through, not after that almost kiss he was damn sure she wanted too.

But he should know by now that her skepticism wasn't restricted to her professional life and it would take her a lot more than him literally going to the ends of the Earth for her to make her believe. She needed what she always needed, the same thing that he had gone after that day to try and make her stay: proof, undeniable proof.

But after everything he had done for her, was there still any proof left for him to give her? Or maybe it wasn't the lack of proof, but the excess of something he hadn't considered until now – uncertainty. Her confidence in him had been shaken the moment Diana walked into his life again. He couldn't blame her, he admitted he was not exactly himself around Diana, but that was because of their history, it had nothing to do with his current feelings. Scully should know by now that the only person who really mattered to him was a blue-eyed redhead who couldn't get out of his head even if he tried hard to think of something else, of someone else. He wished she knew there was no uncertainty in his heart about who owned it and would always own it.

He sighed, thinking that maybe they should talk about it, have the conversation they never really had. Maybe he could explain, maybe she would believe him, maybe they would kiss, maybe something more. Just the thought of it made his heart race.

He looked at his bedside table and saw that the clock indicated he had slept the whole night through, which was some sort of a miracle. Those pills his doctor gave him were really powerful, he was impressed. It then hit him that it might be it: she didn't believe him when he said he loved her not only because of her uncertainty, but also because she thought he was too high on his meds, delusional, saying things he wouldn't say if he were completely clear of them. How would she react if he said it to her once again in a more sober state? Would she still think he was high on his meds? Would she just ignore it in the name of their friendship and partnership once again?

He hated not knowing the answers to all of his questions, especially the ones that had to do with enigmatic doctor Scully. It was as if he discovered something new about her every day, and there were still so many hidden parts that he thought he might die before she could show herself completely to him. Maybe she would always have sides he would never see, but he was surely determined to uncover them all.

He heard steps towards his room, the familiar click of heels against a smooth floor making him smile again. He didn't know how he knew it was her, he just knew. He told himself all the other times he had survived some weird kind of death probably had something to do with this instant recognition. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see her clearly, in her high heels as usual, elegantly walking along the hall with a fierceness he had yet to see in anyone else. When it came down to it, having been in this situation countless times before had nothing to do with it. The simple truth was that his brain just recorded every single sound related to her, from the sound of her heels, to the sound she let out when she giggled, to the sound of her breathing, to the sound of her dear heartbeat he was lucky enough to hear once or twice against his ear.

It amazed him to realize how he fell more and more in love with her with each passing day.

He watched the doorknob turn, expectantly. She smiled as she entered, seeming a little surprised that he was awake. He smiled back at her and he hoped his grin wouldn't be confused with a too-high-on-meds grin again. He was willing to get some answers this time.

She came closer, touching his forehead and then running her fingers through his hair a little, making sure everything was okay with his head. He liked to think that she knew nothing was wrong with his head, but that she indulged in acts like this to have an excuse to touch him, to feel closer, to feel things that she didn't really want to feel. By the way she lingered in there, he wondered if he wasn't closer to the truth than he thought.

Her hands drifted a little lower, her fingers tracing a path to his lips, barely touching his skin, almost absent-mindedly. Almost. He knew there was something in there, something she wasn't telling him, something she was considering if she should accept or not.

As her eyes met his, she dropped her hands to her side again, averting her gaze a little, blushing a little. He secretly loved it when he caught her in a vulnerable moment like this, when she was almost on the brink of showing her true feelings but held back for some reason. He felt like taking her hand and putting it back on his face, just to feel her tender touch, but he also knew that she would take it the wrong way. Instead, he just tapped her hip with his index finger to call her attention back to him. Her eyes stared into his immediately, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. He thought he had heard her ask him something about how he was feeling or how he had slept, but he couldn't be certain. There was one thing that still hadn't left his mind and that he needed an answer to before he could give her his answers.

"Why don't you believe me?"

He knew her well enough to know that her thoughts were going to go straight to what he had told her about the Queen Anne, about 1939, about how she had saved the world, not to the question he was really asking. Maybe unconsciously he always worded his questions in an ambiguous way, so she would always have a way out, a safe way of answering without compromising.

She bit her lower lip, her telltale sign that she was considering what to say. When her voice came out, it was almost a whisper.

"Because believing you is too scary sometimes."

He had been so immersed in his own thoughts, in her deep blue eyes looking at him, in her soft voice speaking to him, that he didn't realize that he had not removed his hand from her hip. Instead, he was gripping it, holding her softly into place. Her hand that had dropped to her side was suddenly not at her side anymore, but at his shoulder, her fingers tracing soft circles there through his hospital gown. He wondered if it had been an unconscious act on her part, too.

He watched as she closed her eyes, her telltale sign that she was trying to put her thoughts together. He knew right then that her answer had been to the question he was really asking - she was too scared to believe that he loved her, too scared to admit that she loved him back.

When she opened her eyes again, she put some distance between them, saying she needed to go find his doctor about the test results that were supposed to be there by now. He just nodded, knowing that what was going on inside her head was something completely different, but pretending to believe her. He was getting tired of these games of pretend they played. Maybe he should set a deadline. Yes, that sounded like a good idea.

People were saying these days that the world was going to end by the turn of the millennium, so maybe that would be a nice date limit to settle this for once and for all. Of course, he would try to act sooner, but perhaps the real world not ending (because he honestly believed it wouldn't) was exactly what they needed to see that _their_ world wasn't going to end either if they took the next step in their relationship. Maybe then she would believe him.


	7. Ironic

**2000**

Skinner's credit card was being put to good use. He couldn't remember how exactly they had gotten here, but they were now at the rooftop of a building, lying on the floor and looking at the stars. Well, she was looking at the stars, but he was looking at her.

He turned on his side, resting his head on his hand, and kissed her cheek, smiling afterwards. She looked at him briefly and smiled back, pausing a little before continuing to recite the constellations she had learned when she was a little girl and that she was surprised to find out she still knew by heart. It was why she was saying them out loud now, to see how much she could still remember just by looking at the sky. She had told him that her father had been the one to teach her, that he had explained how stars could be very handy when you were out there in the open sea, on one of the rare occasions the Scullys were all together and her father decided to tell them a little bit of his life on a ship.

The sea had always been Scully's element due to her upbringing, while Mulder had been the one always looking up at the sky, looking for flying saucers or whatever might come out of its immensity. So, it had been a surprise to him that she seemed to be looking more and more up at the sky with each passing day. He had voiced his thoughts one day, and she had confessed to him then that he was the main reason why she did it, that she had learned to look up at the sky with the same interest as he did over the years, even if she wasn't looking out for UFOs or anything of the kind.

Just the thought of this memory warmed his heart. Sometimes he had a hard time believing that she admired him the same way he admired her. He really was the luckiest guy alive.

"You know what I find funny?" She asked, as if she was lost in her own thoughts and had said them out loud without realizing. "Most of these constellations have tragic stories, myths, connected to them. Why would you connect tragic stories to such beautiful things as stars?"

He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Well, there are love stories behind some of them, too. Although I still choose to believe that stars are actually souls watching over us. It's more comforting that way."

She shot him her typical skeptical look and smiled, before turning back to the sky and trying to find any other stars or constellations she recognized.

He smiled, seeing her so relaxed and so all-around happy, thinking of how far they had come, not only in their work, but also in their personal relationship.

It had all started on New Year's Eve, when he decided to kiss her. He had set a deadline for himself regarding that specific topic and was surprised to see it had actually worked. He had tried before, of course, but there always seemed to be something in the way that prevented him from doing anything.

There had been that day when he invited her to play baseball with him just because he had been away from her the whole day and it had been almost torture. He had feared she might not show up, but she did, promptly, almost as if she too had missed him. He hadn't intended to basically hug her from behind for one hour straight, but that's what had happened because she had refused to try and play on her own, claiming she didn't have enough strength or coordination. He was almost sure that was not the reason at all, but he indulged in her little game and was actually very happy to participate. That would have been a great time for him to kiss her and see how she reacted, but he had lacked the courage in the end.

Then there had been that time when the rubbings of a spaceship found in Africa caused him to read minds and, consequently, turned him into cancer man's lab rat. She had gone to Africa to find something to save him and got back in time to actually do so. His savior, his forever savior. Saying that she was his constant and his touchstone was really an understatement, but her admission that he was hers, too, was basically as if she had said she loved him. And she did love him, he could tell. He knew it not only because of the way she touched his lips before saying goodbye at his door, but also because he had had a glimpse of her mind, even against his will. When she had been to the hospital to visit him right after she came back, he had been able to feel not only the size of her agony but also the size of her love for him. It was an invasion of privacy of some sorts, but he couldn't control what he could or couldn't read. He just promised himself that he would never tell her that he did it, and this was going to be his only secret, the only thing he would ever keep from her. He didn't know why he hadn't kissed her in his hallway that day, why he had just let her go when she touched his lips and turned around, but now he knew it had been for the best.

The kiss in the turn of the millennium had been magical, more than he had expected, even if it had been just a chaste peck. The way she had looked at him afterwards, communicating a thousand feelings without saying a word, was all he had ever needed. It always amazed him how they could talk without using words, how they knew each other better than they knew themselves. In that kiss, it was almost as if he had seen her fears start to vanish, her walls start to crumble. He had known then that he had been right that day in his hospital bed, when he was still trying to form a plan to approach her – the world not ending was what had made their beginning happen.

They didn't talk about their first kiss for a few days and, on the first case they had after that, he was worried that she hadn't taken it the same way he had, worried that he had somehow screwed up. He had been worried to the point of thinking that her being late to arrive at the morgue might mean that she was at Skinner's office instead, handing her resignation letter for not being able to work with him anymore now that he had shown her his true intentions. He had never been so happy to hear that the real reason why she hadn't arrived yet was due to heavy traffic. That day, he had also found out a new side of her: flirty Scully. He was used to flirty Scully only when he flirted and she flirted back, but more as a joke than anything else, not flirty Scully that would play with his tie and coyly say things like, "Please? Just for me?". If it hadn't been the fact that they were on a case and the fact that they were in a public place, he would have taken her up against the wall right there.

He didn't have to wait long, though. That same week, she had invited him to have dinner at her apartment, almost like a date but without calling it a date. What was their problem with naming things for what they actually were, anyway? She had kissed him after dinner, catching him in a moment of distraction, almost as if she was afraid he wasn't going to reciprocate. In a matter of minutes, they were tugging at each other's clothes, falling naked in her bed and admitting to themselves that they had been running from one another for far too long. He would never forget that first night together, the way she felt under his touch, the way she said his name when he made her come, the way they fell asleep afterwards, holding each other as if they would never let go.

They took it slow in the beginning, though, and she had been the first to bring it up and set some rules, even if unconsciously. They would spend some nights together during the weekend and they would spend more time together than usual in general, but they were still trying to set a rhythm, trying to see what would work best for them. He felt like something was still holding her back, but he couldn't figure out what.

What really sealed their relationship, the cherry on top, was the day he decided to go look for crop circles and she stayed behind. She had been a little more irritated than usual in the past week or so, and he had started wondering if maybe she regretted this whole thing. But two entire days away from him apparently had been enough. When he came back, it was as if, suddenly, everything that was holding her back just wasn't anymore. He would have been happy to see actual crop circles and have some sort of proof that extraterrestrial life existed, but coming back to a completely decided and fearless Scully had made him happier than any proof of aliens could have. He was happy with life on this planet.

Although it had taken her a while to really come to terms with her feelings and their newfound relationship, there was no turning back this time.

He was glad there wasn't.

Since then he had been seeing a more natural, more relaxed, and all-around more beautiful (if that was even possible) side of her. He had once wondered if he would ever get to know every side of her that was hidden under her professional and closed-off disguise, but now he didn't think it was so impossible. She was opening up to him in more ways than he had ever imagined. He felt so happy he could cry.

As if sensing what he was thinking, she turned her head to him.

"Are you going to stare at me all night?"

He laughed sheepishly and then nodded.

"Let's just say you're my star for the night."

It was her turn to giggle. Then, she brought one of his hands to her lips and kissed its palm before turning her head up to the sky again and letting his hand rest on her stomach.

He started rubbing gentle circles right above her navel through her clothes. There was something soothing about rubbing her stomach, something magical, almost as if something in there was drawing him to it, like a magnet. He couldn't help but wonder sometimes - if they made a baby together, what would it look like? Would he or she have his hair color or hers? What would his or her eyes look like? Would he or she be cursed with the shape of his nose or blessed with the shape of hers? He smiled momentarily before realizing that, short of some sort of a miracle, that would never happen.

She was always telling him that none of the things that had happened to her were his fault, that _she_ had chosen to follow him, which meant that she also accepted the consequences that came with her choice, but every now and then he thought of all the things his quest had inadvertently taken from her – her sister, her health, her inability to conceive… He had prayed hard to whatever forces that existed for the artificial insemination to work, but at the end of the day, his prayers were reaching deaf ears. Not that it would erase anything that he had brought on her, but at least it would make things a little better, a little less heavy on his shoulders, if his sperm became her child, if part of him lived with her forever.

Sometimes he wished they would end up investigating a case where they could learn more about time travel or even find a time machine. He would give anything to travel back in time and give her back all that she had lost, even if that meant she would have never walked into his office on a certain morning of March back in 1992. He would be willing to sacrifice everything just so she could be happy.

He remembered a time when he was still trying to figure out what he felt for her and what she felt for him, a time when friendship had to be enough, a time when he thought their love would be platonic forever because they just couldn't deal with the fact that they might be good together, because that might overwhelm them, because that might ruin what they meant to each other and the last thing they wanted was to change that. It all seemed like a lifetime ago now.

Now that he thought of it, there was another thing he would do if he ever got his hands on a time machine: he would find a way of letting younger Mulder and Scully know that they were wasting precious time by listening to their fears and insecurities.

He was so glad those days of fears and insecurities were behind them now!

She shifted a little and looked at him again, her eyes sparkling, her mouth open in a smile like he had never seen before. He could see she was genuinely and thoroughly happy.

Before he knew it, the words were out of his mouth.

"I love you."

He had said it once before, but she hadn't believed him back then. Or, as she had said herself, believing him was too scary.

She laced their fingers together, right above her stomach, caressing his knuckles gently.

"I know."

He chuckled, thinking of how she kept surprising him in so many ways. They had watched Star Wars together just a few nights ago and they had spent quite a few minutes discussing the scene where Han Solo answers 'I know' to Leia's love declaration, and it had been amusing to see what she thought of it and her theories around why things happened the way they did. But, as much as Scully's answer right now seemed just like another little joke only he would understand, he knew those two words held more meaning than anything she had ever told him. Just like Han's, her unspoken answer was 'I love you, too.'

"I was wondering when you would finally believe me." He said.

She had a grin plastered on her face as she replied.

"I have always believed you deep down. I always will."

Fox William Mulder had finally made a believer out of Dana Katherine Scully, who would have guessed?

Life couldn't be better.

It was really a shame he was dying.

What was it that the song said, again? Oh yes,

"Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you when you think everything's okay and everything's going right."

 _In answer to your question, Alanis Morissette, yes, I think that's very ironic._

Whatever tests that cigarette-smoking-son-of-a-bitch of a man had put him through had caused his brain to slowly deteriorate. He realized just now that he was wrong when he said that reading her mind was the only thing he would ever keep from Scully. He hadn't found out too long ago, but he hadn't had the heart to tell her yet. She was so happy; how could he break her heart with news like that? 3 years ago, when she was the one close to death, she had told him she didn't want to break his heart and he knew that was her greatest fear. What he never told her was that breaking her heart was also his greatest fear. He hadn't told her anything yet because he was trying to find a cure on his own, trying to save himself before he brought her into this. She had suffered enough on his account, he wouldn't let her suffer months in advance. Maybe she would never forgive him for not telling her at the moment he found out, but that was a bridge he would cross when he came to it. He just wanted to make her as happy as he could right now.

He had been going to doctors, going through a lot of tests, checking every single possibility he had and hanging on to every chance of survival, even if they were minimal. He had never loved his life more than he did now and he wasn't ready to let it go just yet. He would even turn to the X-Files, if needed. Maybe he could find some disease-eating creature or something like that. After all, there had been that guy they had investigated a long time ago that needed cancer to survive, so there might be something that could help him out somewhere, right? Besides, aside from all the other wonderful things Scully had brought into his life, the greatest of them all was her faith. He still didn't believe in God or anything of that kind, but he had faith in life, in her, in them. He had always been intrigued by her faith, be it in God or in him, but he had started to get a glimpse of where it might come from back when her cancer went into remission, because that's what had made him start believing in miracles. Maybe a miracle was coming his way too, who knows?

For now, he tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in the back of his mind because he had faith he was going to survive all of this. His brain and his fears had held him back long enough. His happiness was right here, no matter how long he had left. Carpe Diem, as they say.

She must have sensed his unrest because the next thing he knew she was pulling him down, pressing his forehead to her own.

"Earth to Mulder"

She whispered, caressing the back of his neck softly.

He shook his head, his way of telling her it was nothing. He couldn't just tell her everything that was in his mind right now. He wouldn't.

She frowned a little, but he knew she knew him well enough by now to know that it was better not to push it.

"Whatever it is that you're thinking, just remember that I'm here. I'll always be here."

He fought back the urge to say 'but I won't' by lowering his lips to hers and kissing her for all she was worth.

Her kisses had healing powers, it was a fact. Maybe if he kissed her long enough he would be cured. He chose to believe that for now.


	8. Inconsistencies, Ironies,Impossibilities

**2001**

For every being on Earth, life was a linear concept that started at birth and ended in death. Although some believed in the afterlife, no one could actually prove it existed, so the widely accepted theory by science was that death was, indeed, the end.

Fox Mulder contradicted science.

For him, there was life after death, and not in the religious acceptance of the afterlife, but quite literally – he had lived, he had died, and now he was alive again.

He chuckled quietly, careful not to wake the small life bundled up in his arms or the slightly bigger life lying in bed right behind him. He looked over his shoulder just to make sure he hadn't bothered her. She had been waking up every two hours to nurse the baby and she was exhausted, she needed her sleep. He smiled, thinking of how far they had come not only in the past 8 years, but also in the past couple of months.

He had been completely lost when he woke up at that hospital bed, not knowing what had happened. He had first thought that he had passed out while on the field with Skinner, that somehow his brain disease had gotten worse and that was why he was lying there now, looking at Scully as she cried tears that seemed to be of relief and joy. He cursed himself for not telling her about the disease before she found out by herself, but he was glad she was not pissed at him. His immediate reaction when he saw her cry was to move a little to the left, inviting her to lie in bed with him for just a little while. He had learned with time that, whenever she was feeling afraid or restless for some reason, pulling her closer to him would calm her worries. But she just looked at the bed, then at herself and then back at him. He hadn't seen anything besides her face until now, but when he did see it, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him - her belly, that only yesterday was as flat as it could be, was now swollen with new life. She didn't say anything, probably thinking that her state was self-explanatory, but he had so many questions that it seemed all the hows and whats and whys and whos had created a mashup in his head and prevented him from forming a coherent line of thought, or even any thoughts at all. It was as if his mind had suddenly turned into this mess of abstract shapes that didn't make any sense whatsoever.

His confusion then was what also triggered his memories: a beam of light, a spaceship, a strange room, a chair to which he was strapped, his chest being ripped apart, his teeth being drilled, his cheeks attached to something which he was not quite sure he understood. And pain. Lots and lots of pain.

He had hoped it had all been a dream until his doctor came in and started telling him a crazy story about him dying and then being alive again. He wouldn't have believed it if it weren't for Scully confirming everything, while fighting back the tears that were puddling inside her eyes and smiling, almost laughing, at the absurdity of everything she was saying out loud and that not in a million years he thought he would ever hear her say. If his constant and touchstone was telling him that what had happened was all real, that he had indeed died and miraculously come back to life, who was he to doubt it? But, as the doctor finished explaining that his brain disease was also miraculously gone, his eyes had dropped to her stomach again. How was it possible? Wasn't she barren? Hadn't they tried everything they could, from natural conception to IVF, just to be unsuccessful in the end? Had she found someone else, someone who had some sort of magic sperm and who was able to give her everything he couldn't?

The most important questions to him then had not been how he had come back to life, but how he would stay alive now that life didn't make any sense to him anymore. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he had made love to her just two days ago, kissed her goodnight less than a day ago, but today she was about a month away from giving birth.

Everyone had moved on without him, even her, and he had stayed in the past.

Although he was genuinely happy for her, he had never thought her happiness would hurt him this much. Maybe deep down he had never considered for a second that their lives would eventually go their separate ways.

So, he tried to push her away the best way he could. Maybe that way it would hurt less.

But she wouldn't leave his side, not even for a second, not even when he was being rude to her or saying that he didn't want her to be there. His always relentless Scully never gave up on a fight and he was glad to see that at least that part hadn't changed. If anything, it only made him love her even more. Her persistence in not letting him go was what made him think that there was a missing piece to that puzzle. He couldn't figure out what it was, until he realized that there was no one else in her life, until he saw that she was trying hard to communicate something to him but never could finish her thoughts or her sentences when she started speaking, until Langly asked him about his participation in a certain blessed event.

Oh.

He didn't even need to start counting backwards to understand where this was going. How stupid had he been? Maybe his brain disease had affected him in ways doctors or tests couldn't see because, apparently, his ability to see the things that were right in front of his face was completely gone. Even the I-was-dead excuse wouldn't fly this time. He owed her an apology, and a big one, for that matter.

He started softening, then, really understanding what had happened and what she had been through. Maggie Scully had told him one day that her daughter went to his grave every week, that she talked to him as if he was alive, that she prayed that it was all a dream and one day she would wake up and find him there, lying beside her. Maggie had also told him that Dana had lost quite a few people in her life, but Maggie had never seen her like that before – so desolate, so desperate, so sure it had all been a mistake and that she was somehow living in a parallel universe, that her timeline would be fixed soon, even though she normally wouldn't believe this was even possible.

Hearing it from Maggie had broken his heart. He couldn't believe that after so many years of being careful not to hurt Scully, of protecting her in any way he could, he had broken her heart like this, even if half of this heartbreak was out of his control. He would never forgive himself.

It was then that he started trying to make amends to her, letting her know how he appreciated her staying by his side no matter what, helping her out in any way that he could, trying to connect with her again the way they were before he left. He felt he was getting somewhere, and he wished he could find the words to apologize to her. He really couldn't even fathom what it must have been for her to have found him dead, to have buried him, to have found him alive, just to then suffer in the silence of her home when he came back and basically rejected her after everything. He really was a jerk.

In one of these attempts to make amends, he went to her place after a Lamaze class and, as they relaxed in her couch after dinner, the baby started kicking. She took his hand and placed it close to her ribs, while hissing as the baby kicked again. He asked if she was okay and she just smiled, saying that he would do things like that sometimes and that she found it amusing, albeit painful. He smiled, amazed. She really was an incredible woman.

He chose that night to apologize and, as he tried to find the words, she locked eyes with him and smiled, her eyes wet with the tears she wouldn't let out. Then she shook her head, a lock of hair falling over her face in the process.

"It's alright, I understand. It was a lot to process and communication with words was never our strong suit, was it?"

He chuckled when he heard her answer and nodded. That was another one of her qualities he had come to know throughout the years: Dana Scully would forgive anything and anyone, even when it hurt her, because that's how good her heart was.

He tucked the strand of hair that had fallen over her face back where it belonged, slowly, carefully. He had done it so many times in the past that at some point it had become his gesture, the one he allowed himself to do without crossing any lines, just like when his hands went to the small of her back sometimes, instinctively.

She kept staring at him, _into_ him. Sometimes he thought that she could read his mind just by the way she looked at him.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers, wishing that their time apart had never happened, that he had never been abducted, that he had never died.

He promised her that night that he would never ever leave her side again and she believed him.

He really should stop making promises he wasn't sure he could keep.

William cooed in his arms and he rocked him slowly, hoping to buy Scully a little more time. Holding him in his arms like this made him think of that night on the rooftop of that building, when he felt suddenly drawn to her stomach, as if her stomach was a magnet and his hand was made of iron. Had she been pregnant back then already? He hadn't made the connection until now, but maybe his child was already trying to connect with him that night, maybe trying to warn him of something. It was a crazy thought, he knew it, but spooky had always been his nickname anyway. He laughed at his own thoughts, thinking that maybe he had really gone crazy this time.

He heard the sheets ruffling behind him on the bed and cursed himself for laughing, making a mental note to pay more attention next time. Before he knew it, she was encircling his waist with both arms, hugging him from behind and planting a kiss on his bare shoulder.

"Have you been there long?"

She asked softly, repressing a yawn.

"I'm not sure, actually. I changed him and then I just held him. It seems like time stops near this child, it's incredible."

She chuckled softly, disentangling herself from him and then taking William from his arms. He must have looked disappointed because she smiled at him apologetically.

As if on cue, William started crying.

He laughed at the perfect timing children and mothers had, especially when said children were hungry.

Scully sat back on the bed and took a breast out as Mulder watched, amazed, as William sucked on it immediately. As he watched Scully right now, he thought of how she had grown over the years, how some of her fears and inhibitions had long been left behind, how even through the hardships life imposed on her, she had stood strong. Not that she had remained unaffected by it all, but she had found a way of absorbing all the lessons she could learn and throwing out what wasn't useful, a way of proving to others and to herself that there was always a way out when you opened yourself to possibilities. It was that thought that had led her to believe him, to find him, to love him. She had never told him all that with those words, but he knew that was what had happened. He couldn't be more thankful for his one in five billion.

She was his one in five billion, his constant and touchstone, the one who kept him honest, the one who made him a whole person, the reason to his unreason, the science that grounded him… He could spend the whole night thinking of everything she meant to him and would probably never come up empty. She was his perfect other in every way.

He sat in bed beside her, kissing her cheek softly. She turned her head away from William for a second and smiled at him, that beaming smile of hers that could be worth the light of a thousand stars.

She spoke so softly he felt his heart melt.

"I love you."

He raised her free hand to his lips and kissed it several times, slowly. When he released it, he said what was on his mind, what had been on his mind since the moment Skinner called, since the moment Kersh said the words that he was dreading to hear.

"I wish I didn't have to go."

She tightened the grip on his hand by lacing their fingers together. He pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a while.

"It's not safe for you here and I can't lose you again."

He heard her voice falter and opened his eyes again to try and prevent her from crying. He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, in a slow succession of chaste kisses.

"You won't. You're stuck with me forever, silly."

She laughed at that and he realized William had fallen asleep again. She carefully removed her breast from his mouth and tucked it back in her bra, but she didn't move any more than that.

She looked back at him as she unlaced their hands and put her other arm under William, cradling him in her arms.

"Let's just enjoy our time as a family while we can."

He nodded, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and bringing her and William closer, thinking about the word she had just used - family. Years ago, he had thought of her as his family, but he couldn't have imagined then how the meaning of that word would change, intensify, years down the road. He smiled because for the first time he felt like he belonged somewhere. For the first time, he felt home.

He silently cursed life for its inconsistencies and ironies and improbabilities. Life had been too hard on them for far too long, it was about time it changed. Until then, he would just use Scully as his inspiration and stand strong, he wouldn't let it beat him. Even death had tried to beat him and failed, so he knew he could do it. He had to.

They couldn't be certain whether the info Kersh provided was true or not, but they couldn't run any risks, not now that they had a third person to look after, an impossible perfect mix between Mulder and Scully that didn't even ask to be here. The risks were too high now, more than they ever had been.

He promised Scully he would go to keep the three of them safe, although he couldn't promise to come back alive. He was done promising things he wouldn't be able to keep eventually. There were still too many layers of Scully for him to discover and too many moments of William Scully-Mulder's life for him to experience, so what he did promise was to try his hardest to stay alive, because he knew that promise he could keep. Promising to try was enough for now.

As Scully got comfortable against the crook of his neck and closed her eyes, he thought about something that had been in the back of his mind for a while, something that, unfortunately, he would have to leave for later, for when he got back. He had seen Scully as a daughter, as a sister, as a co-worker, as a partner, as a friend, as a lover, as a girlfriend and now as a mother, but he still wondered what Scully as a wife would be like. He had had plans of asking her what she thought of it when their relationship started to get serious, but his abduction ruined everything. He decided to hang on to that thought a little more, until he was able to come back home safely.

He kissed the top of Scully's head and closed his eyes, wishing that there was a way of making time stop. For now, he could only hope that things would get better and that he would see them again soon. Maybe life would find a way of making up to him one day.


	9. Forever Starts Now

**2002**

The rain outside hit the windows in a slow rhythm, as if trying to lull him to sleep. But having lived in the desert for the greatest part of a year made it impossible for him to get used to the rain again. It felt out of place, as far away from home as it could possibly feel, even though the desert technically hadn't been his home either. He didn't know what home actually was anymore except for the person lying right next to him in bed, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the pains of the world at least for the timeframe that her dreams allowed her to.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she smiled, making him wonder if she really was asleep. He smiled back, unconsciously, thinking of all the other times he had done exactly that and how she had reacted to it every time. Sometimes she would smile in her sleep, sometimes she would move her head a little, sometimes she would just stay still. It was a gesture that belonged to easier, happier times, times he was determined to bring back again, regardless of their current situation.

It blew his mind that she was still following him after all these years, unwavering, never seeming to have any doubts that she was doing the right thing. She had always been there from day one and it astounded him to think that she had chosen him every single time, every single day, even knowing what the consequences might be, even knowing that her life might take unexpected turns every time she chose him over anything else. This time she had chosen him over her job, over her family, over her freedom. He just hoped he was really worthy of all that love, the love that still kept saving him after all these years, through pain, through troubles, through alien abductions and death penalties.

He watched as she slept now, with half a smile on her face, and he hoped that whatever she was dreaming about wouldn't cause her too much pain when she woke up and had to face reality. He wondered how often she dreamed of their child, of the beautiful life they could have had together but that was cut short because someone out there decided that she would be their puppet, maneuvered around just because they could.

He wrapped his arms around her naked body carefully, pulling her closer to him, wishing his presence would be enough to comfort her, enough to make her forget everything she had been through in the past year for a while. She had fought all the battles alone, like the warrior she was, while he hid in the desert in search of a truth that he now knew was immutable. He had never felt so powerless in his entire life.

But while there was nothing he could do about the truth and the impending end of the world for now, Dana Katherine Scully was still here to keep giving him reasons to keep on living.

He moved his hand from the small of her back to her face, caressing it slowly, unable to resist the spell she involuntarily cast on him. She looked like an angel when seen like this, in the pale moonlight that entered this godforsaken motel room. He kissed her forehead slowly, then the tip of her nose, then her lips, softly. He was surprised when she kissed him back, proving that she hadn't been completely asleep after all. She never woke up when he did that in the past.

He smiled as she opened her eyes.

"Hi," she said sleepily.

"Hi," he whispered back.

She smiled and then kissed him again, passionately this time. She locked eyes with him instead of closing them, biting his lower lip slowly and tenderly.

There was something powerful about her eyes, a mystery that he had never been able to unveil, the greatest X-File of all. Her eyes could make time slow down, could make time stop, could make _his heart_ stop. He would never get tired of those blue ponds looking back at him. Never. Her eyes would always be the light to guide his way, always the light at the end of the tunnel. Did she know that?

They stared at each other as he kissed her lips slowly, just the way he knew she liked. Closing his eyes now would be a waste of time, completely pointless after being away from her for so long. He needed to keep his eyes open as proof that she was real, that she was here. The way she stared back at him told him she felt the same.

He let go of her lips, tracing a line of kisses along her jawline and then going down to her neck, right where he could feel her pulse. He sucked the erogenous zone there, hearing her gasp and quietly say his name in between breaths. He moved a few inches and nipped her earlobe, whispering in her ear.

"I missed you so much"

He kissed her neck again and felt her graze her nails down his nape in response, but he also heard an attempt of repressing a sob. He immediately stopped his ministrations and looked at her, meeting her eyes and seeing they were wet with tears. He felt his eyes water as well because he couldn't stand seeing her cry, especially if he thought her tears were somehow caused by him. She smiled at him through her tears, as if she was trying to assure him she was not thinking of the roads not taken and of the life they could have had. That was another thing about Scully and her incredible eyes – she had this ability of cheering him up even without communicating. Her eyes always said it all.

She cupped his face and kissed him slowly, her tongue running along his lower lip a little before entering his mouth and meeting his tongue, her thumbs caressing his cheeks tenderly. When they broke apart, the tears were still there, but she didn't let him speak.

"You have no idea how thankful I am for having you back."

She kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his lips, chastely, following the same pattern he had done just a few moments ago. He smiled, remembering how he used to do that to her all the time before he was taken. In his head, each kiss had a saying - the forehead was code for 'I'll protect you', the nose was code for 'I'm here', and the lips were code for 'I love you'. He had never told her that, but he had a feeling she knew. She always knew.

But did she know just how much he appreciated the fact that she was here, that she had followed him once again, leaving her whole life behind for him, for the love that bound them together? He realized now that she knew a lot of things, but there were many others she didn't, things that he had never expressed, be it with words or with actions. He needed to change that.

He kissed her lips again and then went down to her collarbone, lingering there a little before kissing between her breasts.

As he traced a path of kisses down her body, he thought back to the year he spent hiding in the desert and all the times he longed for just her presence, her smell, her voice, her touch… Instead, there were only two things, two mementos he had kept as a reminder, as a source of strength and courage. One of them was a picture he had taken of her in a moment of distraction, when she was giggling because of something he couldn't remember now. God, he loved her giggles! Speaking of which…

He stopped his trail of kisses at her belly button, but his hands went down the back of her legs until they reached the back of her knees. He tickled her there and waited for the reaction he knew was coming. She giggled, trying to move her legs away from his hands, unsuccessfully. He held her in place with his arms and kept tickling her until she was laughing so much she could barely breathe. He laughed with her, wishing he could always make her laugh like that.

He then ran his tongue around her belly button, making her gasp. He glanced up at her and saw she was smiling at him, her eyes curious to see what he was going to do next. He smiled back at her slyly and planted another kiss right below her navel, determined to drive her crazy, inch by inch, as he usually did. Before tonight, the last time they had had sex was before his abduction, but he felt as if no time had passed at all when it came to this.

So, he made her moan with open-mouthed kisses to her center, with flicks of his tongues across her clit and with the pumping of his fingers in and out of her; he made her eyes roll to the back of her head when he made her come the first time and he made her whimper when he pinched her nipples and kneaded her breasts before taking them into his mouth, one at a time; he made her scream when he entered her after she begged him to (god, was she good at begging!) and when he hit her g-spot several times before making her come again; he made her cry out one last time as he helped her ride out her orgasm with two more thrusts and as he emptied himself inside her, feeling simultaneously spent and complete.

He had made love to her many times before and all the times had been amazing, but as their bodies searched for release tonight, he felt as if their lovemaking was more than just their bodies reconnecting. It was almost as if their souls had found each other again, found their home, a home they never intended to leave again.

This thought reminded him of the other memento he had to keep him company when things got too rough when he was hiding – the words she had written to him in an email, an email he hadn't gotten the chance to reply to in fear that they were both going to get caught, an email in which she wrote that she remained forever his.

Forever. The weight of past intentions and the present reality stuck in a seven-letter word.

He rolled off her, thinking of that word, as they caught their breaths. He kissed her temple and she smiled widely at him with the most beautiful afterglow on her face. He couldn't believe how lucky he was at times.

She nuzzled his nose contently as he gathered her into his arms, closing her eyes afterwards.

He waited a little before speaking.

"Dana?"

She opened her eyes again, a surprised smile across her face.

He chuckled at the thought that what other people considered normal was strange for them, like calling each other by their first names. He had started calling her by her given name more often, but she was still surprised every time.

"Yes?"

She whispered softly.

"I don't know what will happen from now on, I don't know how long we'll have to hide and I don't even know where we will go next, but I promise you I'll try my hardest to make you happy. Every single day. Forever."

He saw her eyes water for the second time this evening, but he could see these tears were a different type, happier ones.

"You already make me happy, Mulder. You have always made me happy."

He thought of some of the moments they had together since she stepped into his office – the first time they met, their dancing to the sound of Cher, their first kiss, their first time, the months that preceded his abduction, the two days they had as a family. They hadn't had many moments of peace in their lives, but the ones they did have were gold, even the ones that weren't meant to last. How he wished those moments had outnumbered the moments of pain!

He thought she had already surrendered to slumber when her voice reached his ears again.

"Will you ever believe me?"

She said, groggily, already having trouble keeping her eyes open.

It was amazing how she always knew what he was thinking, almost as if she could read his thoughts. The moments of happiness they had were too few compared to the amount of suffering he had brought into her life. Believing he made her happy was hard when he believed she would be better off without him.

His answer came out in a whisper.

"I want to believe."

She chuckled softly and then gave him a peck on the lips for reassurance.

"You may not believe me yet, but I believe you. And I promise you the same. Forever."

A church, a priest and a wedding dress couldn't have had more power than this for him. They had just promised each other forever, it didn't matter that they were wearing their birthday suits and that they were in a bed instead of a church. The meaning was the same as wedding vows, in his mind.

He kissed her forehead, lingering there until he heard her continue her line of thought.

"I have to admit, Mulder, I'm not used to being the believer in this relationship. You'd better start believing me soon or I'll go crazy."

He shrugged and then laughed with her, as she pinched his side jokingly. Then, she turned her back to him, molding into his body. He spooned her and closed his eyes, still smiling. Maybe aliens would indeed take over the world in a few years and maybe there was nothing they could do about it; maybe the FBI wouldn't leave them alone for years and they would have to keep going from city to city, from crappy motels to more crappy motels in order not to be caught; but maybe, just maybe, there would also be better days ahead of them, ones they could enjoy before the impending doom of humanity. Maybe they would find a way of saving the world together one day (and he wouldn't be surprised if she saved the world on her own). He wanted to believe that too. Maybe he already did.


	10. A House May Be a Home

**2004**

In the past couple of years, Mulder had learned quite a few things about Scully. She liked morning sex (a lot); she loved roses; she couldn't live without her morning run; she prayed every day; she had an extensive skin care routine that could go on for hours if you let her; she got bored easily, but she also hated not having a place to go back to, not having a routine when it came to living arrangements.

This last item was why he thought she was going to like this surprise he had carefully and secretly prepared for their two-year anniversary.

He laughed to himself, thinking of how he had changed, since celebrations of any kind had never been his thing.

The only time he remembered celebrating something before was her birthday, four years into their partnership, back when he thought she was dying and he didn't want to miss a single second of her life. Back then, it was almost as if he was unconsciously thinking the celebration itself could help keep her alive, as if God or whoever was in charge, upon seeing she was happy and that she loved her life, that _he_ loved her life, would see no reason to take her away.

His birthday, on the other hand, was always a little different. Although he never celebrated it himself, she would always remember it and she made sure to buy him a gift every year. Oh man, he had been a really crappy partner and friend, now that he thought of it. He was glad he had changed a lot since then.

Apart from those two dates, there was something else he would have celebrated but that, unfortunately, he never got the chance to. William's birthday was almost like a not-so-gentle reminder that there would always be something missing in their lives. He saw how Scully's behavior and mood changed when the date was approaching on the first year they were together on the run and, although they had never talked about it, he knew how she felt and why.

The first time he caught her crying he was taken aback, not knowing how to react. He asked her if she wanted to talk about it and she shook her head, adding that she would be fine. He insisted, but he knew her well enough to know that pressing her to say how she really felt wouldn't do any good. If anything, it might make it worse. So, to try and make things better, he decided to do small gestures for her every day until William's birthday came, like buying a cup of coffee and asking the barista to make a smiley face on it, writing her a short love note or taking her out on a date. One day, he took her to a cheap restaurant where they just sat at a table far back and invented stories about the people around them. That at least had made her laugh and he liked to think that it eased the pain a little. On the day of William's birthday, he gave her a small gift – a locket necklace - "for no reason".

She had seemed surprised by all his attention on that first year, but she must have connected all the dots and figured out why he was doing all that in the end because, when he did the same this year, she just smiled after every gesture and kissed his lips softly, saying 'thank you' every time. He wasn't sure if her 'thank you's were for the gifts or for remembering the date as well as she did. Maybe it was both. William was not exactly a forbidden topic, but talking about him would never be easy, it would never not be painful. It was why they chose to communicate with coffees, locket necklaces and thank yous instead of talking.

Although somewhat painful, those moments were incredibly what made him start thinking that maybe he and Scully should start celebrating their anniversary because, despite the circumstances, running away together felt like tying the knot in a way, it felt like it was the most important thing they had ever done together, so it deserved to be celebrated. When he voiced his thoughts to her, she promptly agreed, and he knew right then that she had been waiting for it deep down. Celebrating their anniversary on the day they ran away together was a common agreement that if they attached something good to that life-changing (and otherwise horrible) date, maybe it wouldn't be too sad to remember that they had lost everything in their lives to puppeteers disguised as government officials and FBI agents. Basically, they were trying to see if the lemons life gave you could, indeed, become lemonade.

So here they were, two years in, still running away even though they didn't know if they were still being pursued.

 _Is there anyone following us?_ had been their most common question for most part of the first year and the topic of _When will we stop running?_ had been brought up by Scully after a small disagreement they had had on that first year, when the adrenaline of running around nonstop was finally taking its toll on them. On that day, she had told him that she was tired of running, but that she would still follow him anywhere. Bless her heart and her beautiful unrelenting soul.

On the first year, they were still a little more cautious about being followed, since Scully had once seen an agent she knew from the academy coincidently in two of the cities they stopped by. They had started taking more precautions since then, such as going to the smallest towns they could find, preferably where people didn't even have TVs, or staying no more than two days at the same place.

But now things seemed to have been quieter for a while. It had been a couple of months since they felt like they were being followed, since he last saw himself on the news, since they had to use different names every time they checked into a different motel, pretending to actually be other people.

That role-playing part was kind of fun, though, he had to admit. They had done it once for the FBI, in an undercover assignment, in a time that seemed like a lifetime ago now, and he remembered having as much fun on that case as he did now, although Scully didn't seem to like it that much back then. But back then things were still a little strange between them, they weren't still romantically involved and there was Diana to complicate things, so they were basically in that limbo in which they were for so long before finally admitting they belonged together. Now was a completely different story and Scully seemed to be having lots and lots of fun.

Another thing he had found out about her in the past couple of years was that she was a very good actress (which kind of explained how people believed her so easily when she lied for him in the past, now that he thought of it). One day, to try and remember who they actually were instead of the people they were pretending to be, he proposed that they had dinner in a cool restaurant near their hotel, just the two of them, as themselves, just old Fox and Dana. Not being used to being called Dana and not being used to calling him Fox, she had started a little game where she acted being Dana, talking about herself in the third person all the time, as if she really was somebody else, but using her own thoughts and feelings. That revealed a side of her he didn't get to see often, and he loved it. He liked Dana Scully being portrayed by Dana Scully. It was a lighter version of her, a deliciously sexy side of her.

He smiled now, biting his lower lip a little, thinking that maybe Scully would agree to do that more often. Where was she, by the way? She had been gone for a while, maybe he should go check on her to see if everything was okay. Just as he thought of it, he heard the wind chime of the motel reception and saw her saying goodbye to the receptionist with a smile on her face, then turning around to leave. He wondered how many men (and women) had fallen in love with that smile in the past and how on Earth he was the lucky bastard who had won her heart. He couldn't express in words how grateful he was.

She walked towards him and he met her in the middle, giving her a peck on the lips. He took the bag she was carrying and put it in the trunk while she watched, standing still by the door and telling him with her eyes that she was still hoping he would tell her where they were going. Before she could get in, he stopped her, showing her a blindfold. She smirked.

"Mulder, what are you planning?"

He chuckled, remembering the day when they had experimented with blindfolds and handcuffs for the first time. Maybe this blindfold could be used twice today and for different purposes.

He turned her around and put the blindfold on her, making sure it was tight enough to prevent her from seeing but not too tight that it would hurt her.

"Do you trust me?" He whispered in her ear, trying to sound sexy but in a way that would make her laugh. She did, nodding afterwards.

He kissed her temple before helping her get into the car.

As they drove in silence he thought of all the times they had driven together along the years, but more specifically about that one time when she had said that everyone else was building families, buying homes, playing with their kids and dogs, while they just kept on driving. He remembered now that, at the time, he thought it said a lot that she seemed to be talking about them not as separate individuals, but as two people who would/could, eventually, make a life together if they just stopped moving for a while. He didn't know if that was what had crossed her mind back then or if she even realized that she was implying what he understood she was implying, but it had made his heart a little warmer, a little more attracted to the idea of settling down if that meant they were going to do it together. He kept this memory in the back of his mind to ask her one day, along with the question regarding the time she fell in love with him or at least realized she was in love with him. He was pretty sure he had fallen for her first, but maybe she would surprise him with her answer. She was always keeping him guessing, anyway.

He smiled and then cracked a sunflower seed between his teeth, thinking of how different their lives had turned out, compared to what they thought their lives would be when they were 10, 20 years younger. He didn't know if Scully still dreamed of settling down and getting a dog, but he hoped so. Back in the day he just wanted to keep on moving, to the next case, to the next truth, to the next town with paranormal activity he could find. Now, there was nothing more appealing to him than the idea of settling down. Scully really had changed him in more ways than he knew.

He pulled over in front of their destination and took a deep breath. He shouldn't be this anxious, but he couldn't help it. This was a step, albeit small, towards their new life, a life with less worries and less running, a life he hoped she still wanted as much as he did.

He got out of the car and walked over to open her door. He held her by the hand as she stepped on the cobblestones and tried to figure out with her feet where she might be. He laughed at that and she raised an eyebrow, warningly.

He kissed her forehead, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Okay, ready?"

He asked softly. She nodded excitedly, like a kid that was about to receive a new toy.

He laughed quietly at her cuteness before untying her blindfold. She had her eyes closed behind the blindfold and he was surprised that she hadn't tried to peek.

She squinted a little, adjusting to the light, before taking in the view in front of her. When he was sure she had seen everything she needed to see (including the lake to her left), he spoke, coyly.

"Happy anniversary, Scully."

She looked at the house, confused at first.

"Mulder, what is this?"

There were several question marks all over her face and he thought she looked adorable. It reminded him of those days when he would tell her one of his theories and she would find it so absurd she didn't even know how to reply. He wondered what she was thinking about now because, honestly, it could be anything from 'nice place to spend a romantic weekend getaway', to 'how long since we last did something like this?', to 'Mulder, why don't you let me choose our destination next time?'

He waited a few more moments before putting her out of her misery.

"It's ours for the next three months."

She looked shocked for a moment.

"What do you mean 'ours'?"

"I found this guy who accepted cash payment, no questions asked, and who was happy to rent this place to Joel Barish here, which means your name now is Clementine Kruczynski, by the way. We're not married, that's why you don't have my last name."

He paused a little, giving her time to process everything he was telling her. It wasn't that much information, but he wanted to make sure she understood what his few words meant and, most importantly, that she was happy about it.

She opened her mouth in that way she always did when she was completely dumbfounded but wanted to try and say something anyway. Her eyes were wet, and he hoped it was a good sign rather than a bad one. He continued.

"I know it's still not much, but it's better than changing motels every week, right? At least now we can start having some kind of routine. I know how you miss that."

He watched for her reaction and it was exactly what he had expected – she covered her mouth with one of her hands as she tried to hold back tears, but, failing miserably, she just let her hand drop to her side, her lips opening up in the hugest grin he had ever seen, tears streaming down her face and making her eyes even bluer than normal. Then she jumped into his arms and kissed him in that way that made him see stars, in that way that made him think he was the luckiest guy alive while holding his entire world in his arms.

When they broke apart, he saw there were still a few question marks on her face, but she voiced them this time.

"Don't you think this is dangerous?"

He shook his head.

"Maybe. But we haven't been followed for a while, I haven't seen myself on TV anymore and we haven't met any familiar faces for the past months. I think it's time we gave it a try and, if they do come for us, I'm pretty sure we've learned how to run away by now."

She chuckled softly and nodded, accepting that he was right and showing that she agreed.

He smiled at her and then kissed the back of her hand before leading her inside. He wanted to see her reaction to the roses. He hadn't bought many, just enough to fill a vase that was carefully placed on the kitchen table. It was one of the first things he had learned about her after they ran away together – she loved roses because they reminded her of simpler, easier and happier times. He wanted to provide her with those times again, even if only in the shape and smell of flowers. He hoped memories would be enough for now.

She squeezed his hand when she saw the roses, but she was unable to say anything due to the tears flooding her eyes and carrying her voice along with them. She wrapped her arms around his waist, enveloping him in a sideways hug. He wrapped his left arm around her shoulder, rubbing her arm and kissing the top of her head.

"So, do you like it?"

She chuckled and then nodded fervently, before standing on her tiptoes and kissing him again, slowly, her trademark thank-you kiss.

When they broke apart, she had a new light in her eyes, the one that he had learned to recognize in the past couple of years, his own private light.

"How about we test the bed before we do anything else?"

She said jokingly but seductively.

He laughed and then lifted her off the floor, taking her into his arms as if he was about to carry her over the threshold, but taking her to the bedroom instead.

They say a house is not a home, but this house could be their temporary home.

It didn't matter anyway because home, for him, was wherever she was.


	11. Light and Darkness

**2008**

He had never told her, but he had dreams sometimes – no, not dreams, nightmares – about her leaving. The scenarios were many: sometimes, she would come and tell him she had fallen in love with somebody else, a brain surgeon with a nice house and a dog; other times, the Scully in his dream would just not come back home and, when he went looking for her, he would find absolutely no trace that she had ever existed; other nightmares came in the shape of alien abductions, where she would be abducted but never returned, and he had to learn how to live without her (which was the most painful thing he had ever been through and he was always extremely relieved when he woke up); in other occasions, a little boy of about 7 years old would come and tell him that he was glad his mom had left him because he didn't deserve her. Then the boy would suddenly vanish, and he would never see Scully again; and there was also the most common one these days, the most realistic of all those nightmares: she would come down the stairs one day, with a bag in her hands and would state that she was leaving because she couldn't follow him into the darkness anymore, that she was done with that life.

The most realistic types of nightmares would haunt him for days at a time because he knew that wasn't an impossibility, especially after last month's events.

So, it was not surprising to him that he had just woken up from one of those very realistic nightmares and it was why Scully now had a hand on his chest – and he was not sure if she was trying to calm him down or checking his heart rate – while asking him to try to breathe in and out normally, whispering 'I'm here' softly and repeatedly.

Did he speak during his sleep when those nightmares happened? How did she know that 'I'm here' were exactly the words he needed to hear to calm down? Maybe it was a coincidence, but he had a feeling she suspected what those dreams were about, although she had never asked, although she had never said anything at all about them whenever he woke up screaming. Was she afraid of asking? And, if so, was she afraid that she couldn't assure him everything had been just a dream? Why couldn't they communicate like normal people sometimes?

He felt his heartbeat start going back to normal as she smiled a comforting smile.

"Are you going to be okay?"

She asked, brushing a strand of hair away from his face.

He smiled weakly back at her and nodded. Then, she gave him a quick peck on the lips and lay her head down on her pillow again, turning away from him to try and go back to sleep.

But he couldn't sleep now, and he probably wouldn't be able to for a couple of hours. He thought of getting up and finding something to do downstairs, but he also knew it was useless. Besides, he would be grumpy all day the next day and he wanted to get some writing done without a sleepy brain in his way.

The writing part had been her idea and, surprisingly, it was helping him feel less restless, less powerless for not being out in the field. He used to write before, back in the days when he was just a spooky FBI agent hiding in a basement and trying to uncover the truths not only through his job, but also through articles he wrote for papers, for magazines, for UFO organizations whose theories sometimes were too crazy even for him. It was just a hobby back then, a way to help when the government wasn't looking, but now that he didn't have a job and that he was finally free of all charges, writing could very well become his main work, a way of telling the general audience that what they saw was not always what happened, that there were many things hidden underneath. It was true that his book would be taken as a work of fiction by many, but those who knew him and his work might actually find it interesting. So, he had decided to write about their life as FBI agents and about the most memorable cases they had investigated. It would be sort of an autobiography but without the personal relationship part. It was a good, solid idea. It might work in this new life they were trying to live.

The fight they had had when the FBI came looking for him and as he tried to help them solve the case was what got him thinking about it all, about their work together, about all those years at the FBI, about the days before Scully, about the days even before Diana, days when he used to look for monsters in the dark, all alone. He started thinking that maybe he sought darkness because he wasn't used to the light, because he actually felt more comfortable in the dark. But Scully was pure light, she had always been, and darkness bothered her, a lot more than he thought it did. She had been through pretty dark moments herself, but her unwavering persona never let out what she was really feeling about all that and, even if she did let it out a few times, she was always going on, always ready for the next stop, for the next adventure, for the next case that often involved them in darkness over and over again.

It was why it had never occurred to him that she might not like all this darkness as much as he did, and, most importantly, that she might have been even drawn to it in a distant past, but that their lives now were very different from what they once were. They were certainly different people now than they were 15, 20 years ago and, even though their essence remained the same, they had matured, grown into these two human beings that were completely foreign to their younger versions. Younger Scully liked the challenge, the adrenaline of chasing after monsters and finding the science in them (she even liked the times when she couldn't explain them at all, he was sure, even if she wouldn't admit it), but older, more mature Scully knew that those monsters belonged in the past, a past which she preferred to leave behind because their lives had moved on and they had to accept it for what it was now.

He had been annoyed at first – no, annoyed was not the word – he had been angry at her for being so bothered by his wanting to help the FBI, for his wanting to find the missing women as if it were his job and not the job of the other dozens of agents that were working on the case. How could she not care? How could she be so selfish? Didn't she realize it could be her or him lost out there, just hoping someone would come for them? How could she have forgotten who he was, who he had always been?

The fact that Scully had accepted her current life for what it was made it easier for her to leave her past behind, even though there was this one thing that she would never, she could never, leave behind, the one thing that belonged not only to her past, but also to her present and to her future, that one person that would always be the emptiness she felt in her restless nights, the pain she felt in her chest for no reason, the words she never said but let out in tears instead sometimes. It was the same person that he had dreams about but never told her in fear it might open wounds that had never really healed and that he knew never would, the same thing of her past that would always remain with him too, regardless of what happened. Other than that, everything seemed to have changed and, sometimes, he felt like part of him was stuck in the past, trying to connect past Mulder to present Mulder with no success.

It was not like he didn't like his current life, he did. In fact, he loved it. But he could never forget who he was, who he had always been, who he would always be. He couldn't just accept that his current life would never be his past life, that his reality was one in which he wasn't saving the world from aliens or from creepy serial killers with a psychic connection to a pedophile priest. Now that he had been given a chance to go back and relive his past for a couple of days, he realized he missed his old life more than he thought he did, that his old life made him feel just as alive as his current life. He wanted his old life, but he also wanted his new life, this precious little parallel world he had built with Scully. He just wanted the best of both worlds, was it too much to ask?

Scully at least continued to save lives, to change lives although in a different way. As an FBI agent or as a doctor, she would always be what he called "the healer of all things" (and she would laugh every time he told her that and mostly say he was always exaggerating). Her life had changed a lot, but her essence was still there, was still going strong, even stronger than ever. And her courage. Her courage to go on, to face her fears, and especially her courage to believe, being the skeptic that she was, inspired him every single day. He had seen just how much Father Joe had gotten into her head just by saying three words: don't give up. He had seen her faith shaken time and again in the past, but she had always found it back, always somehow making it stronger. She had no idea why Father Joe had said those words to her, and she struggled with them for several reasons. Was he talking about the boy she was taking care of? Was he talking about hers and Mulder's relationship? Could she even trust what he was saying? They would never really know, but whatever it was he was referring to, his words had worked because she had the courage to believe they meant something and acted on them. Christian was now doing so well even the doctors were impressed. His parents had apologized to her later on, thanking her for not giving up. She had come home crying that day, tears of relief for having done the right thing.

And she hadn't given up on their relationship either.

When she got the job at Our Lady of Sorrows, she had to stay at hotels sometimes because driving all the way back to their little ordinary house, as she fondly called their home, would take too long and she wouldn't be able to sleep the number of hours she needed in between her shifts. After the fourth time it happened, they talked about it and she decided to have her own place near the hospital for when the need arose. But when he found her in the hospital locker room that day, as if hiding away, he knew that her 'but I can tell you that I won't be coming home' was not the same as the words she said over the phone every time she called to say that she had to stay extra hours at the hospital for one reason or another and that she was really sorry she couldn't make it home. That day, in that locker room, away from everyone, he knew she meant she just didn't want to be home, she didn't want to be with him. He knew then that her words meant she wasn't coming home because she needed some time to think, some time to consider everything, some time away from him, away from his suffocating darkness that invaded her so deeply she felt groundless, breathless, lifeless.

He knew then that that was a decisive moment in their lives because it was the first time she was refusing to follow him, refusing to help him, refusing to let him drag her to wherever it was that he needed – or that he thought he needed - to go. It was also the first time she had ever said she was not coming home not because she couldn't, but because she didn't want to. That was the first time he realized that their lives might follow different paths at some point, that there might be a fork on the road ahead and they might choose to go their separate ways. That was the first time he realized that there was really never a forever thing.

He had been so angry when she said that to him, so heartbroken, that he didn't know exactly what to say or what to do. But he couldn't blame her. She was right, she had her own battles to fight. She had spent her whole life fighting his battles, now she had to fight her own, and she needed to do it alone. That day was also the first time he felt as if they were on different pages, wanting different things from life, wanting different things from each other, and not in the wonderful way it had been in the past where different meant completeness. On that day, different meant separation.

He had seriously thought she was going to leave him then, that she was going to stay at her apartment for a while until she realized that she didn't miss him and that there was an amazing life out there that she was missing out on because she was stuck with him.

He rolled on his side now, careful not to wake her again, trying to ease his thoughts because just thinking of her leaving him was giving him anxiety again. He was glad she had changed her mind.

She had come home with him after she and Skinner found him in that compound and saved him from having his arm – and who knew what other part of his body - cut off, in an amazingly lucky perfect timing. She had taken him to the hospital briefly after that, but they had discharged him when they saw there were no risks to his life and she had brought him home and taken care of him until the anesthetics the creepy doctors had given him wore off completely.

Then, the next day, they made up, and he promised he would take her as far away from the darkness as they could get, just the two of them, to a place where she could have all the light that she deserved.

They didn't talk about their fight and troubles or about their feelings after that day, using their getaway trip, the attempt of a honeymoon they had never had, as a way of leaving their feelings behind without talking about them. In short, they had just swept everything under the rug, as they usually did. If this metaphorical rug were an actual, real thing, he figured it might be the size of an elephant by now, almost floating in the air, just covering the top of all the things they had hidden under it.

Although things were good now, seemingly back to normal, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen, that something would happen eventually, something that would take her away from him. She had almost slipped through his fingers too many times, he didn't know if he could survive anything like what their previous life had provided them with. He was almost sure he wouldn't.

He turned on his back again, taking a deep breath. It seemed like the more he tried to focus on happy thoughts, the more his brain focused on the bad ones. It was like an endless cycle that made his heart race and his limbs numb.

He needed to talk to her, he needed to get this out of his chest.

"Scully, are you still awake?"

He whispered, afraid to startle her in case she was sleeping.

She hummed something he could not understand and then turned towards him, without opening her eyes.

"Yes. Are you okay?"

Her voice was dragged, clearly more to the unconscious side than to the conscious. He wanted to tell her it was nothing and let her go back to sleep, but he couldn't. Not right now.

"Were you going to leave me?"

Her eyes shot open, clearly confused by his question. Sometimes he forgot things happened in his head only and that she couldn't read minds.

"Back at the hospital, when you said you weren't coming home, was that what you really meant?"

She sighed a little and he knew she was trying to find the right words to say what was on her mind. Maybe she was afraid of hurting him.

"I was angry and hurt, Mulder. I was stressed. I admit I was even a bit jealous. I just needed to get away from you to try and figure out where we stood."

He heard her, but it wasn't exactly an answer to his question. He thought about joking about the jealous part, but he decided against it because now was not the time for jokes or innuendos. He still wanted the truth.

"Do you ever think you would be better off without me?"

She didn't hesitate before shaking her head and opening a smile, her eyes closing slowly and opening again as she fought back sleep.

"You drive me crazy sometimes, Mulder, but I guess I am the light to your darkness, in a way. It's why I believed Father Joe even though he couldn't be trusted. I can't give up on us, Mulder. I won't. I promise."

She closed her eyes again and rested her head on his chest, nuzzling into him a little.

He kissed the top of her head and caressed her hair.

Wanting to believe had always been his specialty, but it seemed like these days it was getting harder and harder to do so. Her words were comforting enough for now, but he knew how promises worked – sometimes, no matter how hard you tried, life would find a way of straying you away from your path, so the promise would be forgotten, unfulfilled.

"Do you want to talk about this dream you had?"

She asked, making him smile in surprise.

"It was just a dream, I'll get over it. You can go back to sleep."

He felt her hug him a little tighter and then slowly succumb to slumber once again.

As he felt her deep breath against him he hoped – no, not hoped – he _prayed_ that she would be able to keep her promise, that just this once life would be good to him, to them. He needed his light to survive his darkness.


	12. The End Is Near

**2012**

He took another clipping and looked around the room. Where would he put it? There were too many things spread around already, pinned to boards, glued on the walls, spread over books he never read anymore, over chairs he didn't use, over the desktop computer Scully used when she needed to do some research for her work or simply when she wanted to hang out. It was true things were a little bit weird between them, but the computer was still there, and she was still coming down here when she had a chance.

Things had started being strange between them after the new year, when he realized they were entering the year that would change everything, the year which would mark the final alien invasion. December 22nd, that was what he had seen back in 2002, when he was arrested and then sentenced to death by lethal injection. There was no reason for him to doubt that information because, after all, his death sentence itself was an indication that he knew too much. But Scully had always doubted it, had always said that, even if it were true, there was absolutely nothing they could do, especially because they were fugitives hiding from the FBI and from everyone else that could help them.

She was right then, as always, but now… The word going around the UFO community was strong and, with the information he provided, they were able to dig quite a lot of information on what might be happening on the date he saw in that government facility those many years ago. They had places where things were going to happen according to the government's inside sources, places where they needed to go to hide if they wanted to survive and fight back, people with whom everyone should talk to in order to plan a resistance group before it was too late.

He was so invested in all of it, so obsessed with every bit of information, that he barely slept anymore, he barely ate, barely shaved, barely did anything else other than sit by his computer and plan how to save the world or run away from the alien colonists. His morning runs with Scully didn't happen anymore, they never went out to dinners anymore, he never accompanied her to her family lunches anymore (he missed Maggie, but Bill would always be there to put him down anyway, so why would he bother going?) and they hardly ever even slept together anymore, only in the rare occasions when she got home earlier and was able to seduce him out of his office.

He missed her, he missed her a lot, and she was right in front of him, still living under the same roof as he did, still sleeping on the same bed he was supposed to be sleeping in, still eating the same food he was eating – no, that was a lie, he mostly survived on junk food these days – still sitting on the same couch as he did, but never at the same time. How had this happened? But she understood, right? She had to. After all, it was their future he was trying to ensure. He made a mental note to do something for her when she came back home tonight, maybe order food from that restaurant she liked or maybe they could watch a movie together. Maybe both. That would give them some time to catch up on things. How long had it been since she had last told him about her day? He was suddenly hopeful for tonight and he realized he had not only missed her, but he had also missed being hopeful. He also hoped this sudden excitement would last more than five minutes because good feelings never came and stayed with him for too long these days.

He didn't know when exactly that had started happening, but it was as if, suddenly, someone had turned off the lights and left him in complete darkness, and he had to make his way through it. He was used to darkness, that much was true, but his darkness moments before had never been this dark. He had always found a way of letting light in before, there was always someone out there making sure light got in, always someone who was light herself. Why wasn't he letting her in anymore?

He was also sensing a change in her behavior, albeit small. She was coming home less and less these days, always saying she was too busy at the hospital to come back home and then go all the way back, that she would be too tired on her next shift and that she couldn't afford risking a patient's life over her being able to come home. He always believed her, of course, but now he was starting to think that he didn't really care when she didn't come back, almost as if he had taken for granted, almost as if he was sure she would eventually come back when work got less busy and complicated. But what if she got tired one day? What if that day was today? What if she didn't come home tonight so they could watch that movie and eat that food and talk about her day?

He had to start paying more attention to her, he had to make an effort. It was hard enough that she didn't believe that the end was really near, but thinking that their end was also near destroyed him, broke his heart into a thousand million pieces, sent thoughts to his head he had never had before. Because what did he have in life aside from her? Living without her would be like living without his own heart. Was it even worth it?

A sound came from his computer and he turned on his chair using his feet as a boost so that the small wheels of the chair could carry him towards the computer. The message that had come in said that they had found the perfect place to hide, a place made of magnetite, a place where super soldiers couldn't touch them. Of course, that would only be helpful in case the invasion they were expecting was, in fact, an invasion by super soldiers, those alien-human hybrids that were slowly infiltrating mankind and that would implement their final part of their plan on December 22nd. Since there was nothing to indicate it would happen in a different way, that was their safest bet until now. He had to tell Scully when she came back. She would have enough time to invent something to get her away from her job, so they could go and hide until everything was over or at least until they could find a way of fighting back accordingly. They could work out a story that would be plausible enough and then they would be safe. Yes, that's what they were going to do.

But there was Maggie too, she surely wouldn't want to leave her behind. That would be a little tricky, because how could they convince Maggie to come along? Of course, she knew her daughter and he worked with things they could not talk about most of the time, but she didn't know anything about conspiracies or alien invasions. Even after William, even after being through a lot herself, she didn't know anything more than the general public did. He and Scully would have to find a way of getting Maggie to run with them, so they had to start thinking about it soon.

He looked at the clock on his wall and saw that she was late. She usually came home a little earlier on Thursdays to make up for the extra hours she stayed on Wednesdays, the days when she helped a surgeon out with a new project of his. She had told him what the project was, but he couldn't remember right now. Maybe he hadn't paid enough attention.

He clicked the reply button on the message and thanked his source for the info, saying he would be online later to discuss the details and help them form a plan. He looked at the clock again and saw that the hour hand hadn't changed, the minute hand hadn't changed, and the second hand seemed to be moving slower than usual. But where was Scully? He thought of calling her, but he didn't want her answering the phone in case she was already on her way back. The roads could be quite dangerous, and he didn't want her to be involved in an accident because of him. He couldn't lose her, he wouldn't.

He felt his heart race at the thought and realized that, once again, his mind had taken him too far and he was already seeing car crashes and ambulances in his head. The thing about having bad thoughts was that it was like a chain reaction – once you had one, several others followed, and he could never stop them if he didn't try and focus on something else. His brain would go on and on and on and on, like a broken record playing loudly on his ears. He needed to stop, he needed to focus on something else. The clock still showed only three minutes had passed since the last time he had looked. He cursed time for being so linear, or at least that humans had such a linear perception of time. He hated being human sometimes.

 _Focus on something else, Mulder. Focus. Focus._

His eyes focused on the newspaper clipping he was trying to find a place for, which was now resting beside the computer keyboard. Oh yes, he had forgotten to find a place for it! Where would he put it? He used to have a system for all the clippings, one board consisting of alien-related stuff, another consisting of monsters, another consisting of missing persons who had disappeared in unusual circumstances, and so on. But he had been so caught up, so obsessed with finding things he could investigate along the years of solitude, of hiding in this house, that his walls were now a mess, and there were things related to every topic just spread around, like some weird-looking art that had absolutely no pattern and absolutely no reason. Why had he started it all again? He couldn't even remember anymore. Maybe his office was a reflection of his mind, in a way.

He stood up, feeling the weight of his body on his left knee. He was not overweight, at least not yet, but he had gained a lot of weight anyway and parts of his body were starting to complain. Also, he was not 20 anymore, so his age also had some influence in all that too.

He started walking around, examining every little clipping to see if there was a space somewhere. He passed by Samantha's picture and smiled. He often wondered if there was an afterlife and if they would meet again someday. He hoped so. He missed her so much!

He found no empty spaces near her picture, so he kept on walking. He soon reached a picture of him and Scully, one they had taken that day on the beach when they were running away from the darkness. He took it off the wall and held it in his hands, smiling widely now. She looked so peaceful, so happy in the picture, that he wondered if he could make her smile like that again one day. He missed that sparkle in her eyes.

He put the picture back on the wall, wondering if it wouldn't be better to find a frame for it and put it somewhere else, not among the monsters and the ghosts and the overall cruelty plastered along those walls. Yes, it was probably best. He put it down and made a mental note to try and find a nice frame for it and then choose a happier place to put it. He believed that store they sometimes went to had nice frames. He would go there tomorrow morning, before Scully left for the hospital so that he could use her car. When was the last time he had driven? When was the last time he had left the house? He couldn't actually remember. How had he become this person?

He shook his head, trying not to think about it too much, then picking up the clipping and pinning it up on the wall in the place where the picture had been just moments ago. Just as he made sure the clipping was firmly pinned, he heard the front door open. Scully was okay, nothing had happened, she might just have been in traffic. Thank God. He laughed at the fact that he didn't actually believe in God, but these expressions were so common and so used by Scully that he ended up using them too. It was funny to see how she influenced him even in such small things.

He waited for his office door to open but, instead of hearing footsteps towards his office, he heard her go up the stairs. Was something wrong?

He placed their picture together onto the computer keyboard and then left the office, going upstairs to find her.

When he reached their bedroom, she was taking off her coat, her back turned to him, her gaze lost somewhere outside the window.

"Scully, is everything okay?"

His voice was hoarse for not having been used all day.

She turned suddenly, and he saw he had startled her. She was clearly not expecting him to be there.

"Hey Mulder. Yes, everything's okay. Why do you ask?"

"You didn't come see me after you got in, so I thought something might have happened."

Her mouth opened but no sound came out of it. She looked shocked and he knew she was having a hard time translating her thoughts into words by the way she licked her lips. Then, she sighed and looked at her feet for a few moments, before looking up at him again. She dropped her coat onto the bed and took a deep breath before speaking.

"Mulder, I haven't been to your office in at least a month, not even when I come back from work. Did you not notice?"

Her face was a mix of shock, indignation and sadness.

His words got caught in his throat. What could he say after this shocking realization? The truth was that no, he had not noticed.

He might have shown it with his eyes, though, because she shook her head, as if telling him it was not important. Her gaze fell to her feet again as she looked for something to say.

It didn't use to be that way, their silences used to be much more comfortable than this. Now it felt like they had to try hard to find a common topic, as if they were two strangers who had known each other for 20 years.

Luckily, he had planned that dinner thing along with that movie thing, so that would save the room from awkward silence for a moment.

"I was thinking that maybe we could order food from that Indian restaurant you like?"

She smiled weakly at him and then closed her eyes, nodding, as if thinking something she was not letting out.

"And maybe then we could watch a movie? I don't know what we have at home, but there might be something on pay-per-view."

She opened her eyes again, pleasantly surprised this time.

"That would be nice, Mulder. I just have to take a shower first, is that okay with you?"

He nodded and for the first time in he didn't know how long, he felt his heart warm and he smiled.

Then he turned around and went downstairs to order them food.

He dialed the restaurant's number and ordered their usual plus a dessert he knew she liked.

He thought of going back to his office and continuing what he was doing while he waited, but he knew how he tended to get caught up in things and forget about everything else. He didn't want that to happen tonight.

So, he sat down on the couch and waited, switching channels to see if anything called his attention. He just stopped switching when the food arrived and he had to get up to answer the door. He felt restless again for some unexplained reason.

Scully came down the stairs wearing her casual clothes just a little after he closed the door and she smiled at him, a true smile this time. It was good to see her face brighten up again like that. Now that he thought of it, it had been a long time since he saw her do that.

She walked to the kitchen and got them plates, and she watched, pleased, as he transferred the food from the boxes to their respective plates.

They ate in silence, a silence that bothered him a little, but that was a little less awkward than the one in their bedroom. When they were almost done eating, he looked over at her and decided to be the first to break it.

"How was your day?"

He saw her frown, as if she was finding strange that he was asking. Had he been that careless? Most importantly, how long had he been that careless?

She finished chewing the portion that was in her mouth before answering.

"It was good. There's this new kid that came in, with the same syndrome Christian had. You remember Christian, right?" As he nodded, she continued. "So, it looks like it's going to be a challenge, but we are hopeful."

He knew this 'we' she was referring to was the surgeon she was assisting, but he couldn't help being a little jealous. His name was Paul and, as far as he knew, he was single. He tried not to think about it too much, but sometimes his brain wouldn't leave it alone. What if she fell in love with him one day? What if one of his nightmares came true, eventually? What if she left him? _Focus on something else, Mulder. Focus. Focus._

He nodded as he heard her finish her sentence about the course of treatment and he was glad she apparently hadn't realized he wasn't paying attention to anything other than what had been going on inside his head.

"And how was your day?" She asked back, and he didn't know if she was just asking out of politeness or because she really wanted to know. She knew he had stopped writing altogether, that he was stuck with his current obsession with humanity's impending doom and that it was the only thing he cared about these days. He felt kind of offended that she didn't care, if he was being honest, because she would be part of it all in no time if they were to survive. Which reminded him that he needed to tell her what he found out today.

"It was good, actually." He transferred some more food to his plate while he spoke, taking care not to let anything fall on the floor. "And, by the way, we will need to move soon. I got intel that tells me there's a safe place in Oregon, a place where we will be able to hide and probably survive all of this. We'll have to move fast, though, so we'll need some cover story for you to tell the hospital. And we also need to find a way of telling your mom to come with us. Do you think we can come up with something in a week?" He finished putting all the food he wanted on his plate and turned to look at her again.

Her face had changed from happy to incredulous. Her eyes were wet, but in that way where she wouldn't let the tears fall, as if she had some super power that could hold them in.

He waited for a response, but nothing came out of her mouth. She just stared at him, trying to communicate something with her eyes. He didn't know what it was, he couldn't read her eyes like he used to anymore, but he knew that what she was trying to say without words was not good at all. He felt like crying himself and he didn't even know why.

She closed her eyes and he saw the frustration all over her face. What was happening to them? Who were these people who went by Mulder and Scully (and occasionally Dana and Fox), but who looked nothing like the Mulder and Scully, the Dana and Fox that worked so well together for so long? Had they been unknowingly replaced by aliens? He couldn't recognize her anymore, he couldn't recognize himself.

She opened her eyes after a long time, as if only then she was sure her tears were not going to fall. When she spoke, her voice was low, but not at all calm. He could hear her unshed tears in them.

"Mulder, the world is not ending, there is no alien invasion. Please listen to what you're saying, it's insane! We've been through this before and, honestly, I'm getting tired. I'm getting tired of speaking and being met with deaf years. I'm tired of reaching out and not being noticed. I'm trying to help you, but I don't know how much longer I can take this. This darkness is too much for me."

Her chin wavered, and she covered her face with her hands. He reached for her thigh, touching it slightly. Before he could even say he was sorry, she stood up, making his hand drop to his side on the couch again. He had no idea what to do right now. He was lost, he was angry, he was sad, he was numb.

She walked past him towards the stairs but, before she could climb the first steps, she turned to him.

"Thanks for dinner, but that is not enough. I need you to change. I need you to want to change."

He watched in silence as she went upstairs again, and he could hear her sobs even when she closed the door to the bedroom. He thought of taking the plates and the remaining food to the kitchen, but he didn't feel like moving, he didn't feel like crying, he didn't feel like breathing. Her dessert was still untouched in the box, and she hadn't even seen the note he had asked the restaurant to write for her. It didn't matter now, he knew she had made up her mind and that she would only want to talk about this again in the morning, if she decided to talk about it at all instead of sweeping yet another thing under the rug that was already filled with an endless list of unspoken words.

It was not that he didn't want help, he just didn't feel like he needed help. Couldn't she see that? This was 2008 all over again – she wanted him to change, but he was just being who he had always been. Maybe he had changed a little, but not that much, right? Maybe she had fallen in love with the wrong Mulder, after all, with the Mulder she created in her head, a Mulder that didn't exist, that had never existed. Maybe the real Mulder had been invisible to her all along.

He let himself slowly lie on his side, using the arm of the couch as a pillow, although an uncomfortable one. As he closed his eyes he wished that the genie they had met all those years ago was still around, that she would magically appear in front of him and grant him three wishes. He could even choose only one, if he thought carefully. He would wish to go back in time, to a time when they were both still happy, it didn't matter much which time. Or maybe he would wish to not wake up the next morning. Yes, that might be a better wish. At least that way the pain would be gone, and he wouldn't have to worry about anything else anymore – not about aliens, not about the end of the world, not about Scully.

But since there were no genies around, he would just fall asleep in the couch, still wishing to not wake up the next morning.


	13. I Love You, Goodbye

**2013**

He stared at the white ceiling, noticing suddenly it needed some repainting. Maybe it was why she left, he thought. Maybe he wasn't noticing anything at all anymore, like the ceiling, the papers that were building up in his office to a point where he had barely space to walk, like the sunset that she loved so dearly, like things that mattered to her. He had been just too self-absorbed to notice that she too was suffering, that she needed his attention just as he needed hers, and that, in the end, she was giving her all to him and he wasn't giving anything back to her.

The bed felt uncomfortable without her there, but he had no strength to get up or even to move whatsoever. He felt numb, as if the colors weren't quite right, as if he were still sleeping, as if this was all a dream. It felt like those nightmares that would haunt him sometimes and that would wake them both in the middle of the night to the sound of his sobs. Now that he thought of it, it really felt like a nightmare, one of the worst he had ever had.

What if this was the truth? What if he hadn't woken up yet and this was just one of those very realistic nightmares he used to have? It had been a long time now, but he remembered that case where they had fallen victim to the X-file and had 'woken up' several times before really waking up from their hallucinations. That had happened due to spores from wild mushrooms, it was true, but who's to say that something like that wasn't happening right now?

He was sleeping. Yes, that was what was happening.

He would wake up, eventually, he was sure, and she probably would be the one waking him up, her hand shaking his arm a little, saying 'Mulder' quietly and then a little louder as he still fought against his body's will to keep on sleeping, to keep dragging him down to this empty void where she didn't exist, where she had left, or where she had been abducted by aliens. Then she would smile as he finally opened his eyes, focusing on her face as she brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen over his face, as she put one of her hands over his heart just to check if his heartrate was coming back to normal. Then he would hug her tight, feeling the relief wash over his body as he realized she was still there, that what was troubling him was his own mind, his own brain playing tricks on him.

His brain liked to torture him these days with thoughts of worthlessness, of powerlessness, of meaninglessness, with obsessive behavior over things he was sure were going to happen if he didn't do something about them but that, in the end, had always only been a lie. Or a fabricated truth, if you will.

He had been led to believe a truth that for years had guided their lives in every way, but that he should have known wasn't exactly the entire truth. He should have listened to Scully. There was no alien invasion date after all, maybe not even aliens. What existed was only his will to believe, his determination to save the world, and plain and pure evil in the form of a man who smoked cigarettes with the same frequency normal humans breathe.

But maybe this had all been a dream as well. Maybe, when Scully woke him up soon (he was certain she would do it at any time now), he would open his eyes to find himself on her bed in her Georgetown apartment, some 13 years or so in the past, their lives still unchanged, still only half harmed, still hoping there was a bright and welcoming future ahead of them.

Yes, this was exactly what was happening. A dream.

He relaxed a little, wondering if there was a way of waking himself up or making Scully realize he needed to wake up. Would hitting himself on the face work? If he screamed in his dream, would his voice get through to the real world?

It didn't matter much now anyway, not now that he realized what was really happening. He would stay calm and wait. That should do the trick.

It was funny to think that it was all a dream because when he was about 10 or 12 (it had been so long now since he was that age that sometimes it was hard to remember things accurately), one of his teachers said once that, when writing a story, the most uncreative way of ending it was to state that all previous occurrences had only been a dream and that all was actually well with the world. She said that it had already been done too many times by too many people, and that that kind of plot didn't reflect real life for what it was, and that even fantasy needed to be grounded in real life sometimes.

He chuckled. That teacher really was something else (and also one of the best teachers he had ever had). Now, thinking about dreams and reality, shouldn't this dream be a little more eventful? And wasn't it taking too long to end?

It was time to wake up.

The teacher and 10 (or 12) year-old Mulder had only made an appearance in his mind to remind the 50-something-year-old version of Mulder (what was his age again? He was having trouble remembering things without her) that nothing had been a dream because real life doesn't happen that way. He had, in fact, been misled about the Truth and about the impeding end of the world and, worst of all, Scully had, indeed, left.

Nightmares were bad, but facing the reality that he was not actually sleeping was even worse.

He sighed, not sure how he was still breathing. That seemed to be the only thing he could do now. Was breathing enough when his heart was gone?

She had left silently in the middle of night. Had she given him a goodbye kiss before walking out the door? He was usually a light sleeper, so why hadn't he woken up to see her leave? The one time he didn't want to sleep and it was the one time he slept better than he had done in months. It would be funny if it weren't tragic. All that remained now were the memories, but would the previous night's memories be enough to ease his pain for now?

It happened all too fast, all too differently from their usual pace. He had come into the bedroom to find her packing her bags, tears streaming down her face. When she saw him standing there, she turned and announced she was leaving, that she couldn't stay with him and his darkness and that she could not deal with the stranglehold his beloved UFOs put on her very existence. They had been having a hard time these days, but he hadn't realized it was this bad. He asked her why and she laughed, angrily, immediately starting a fight. He shouted things at her, she shouted things back at him. All the things they had kept inside were finally out, things they never really meant to say although they had thought about, mean things, hard truths, as if hurting one another now would make the fact that she was leaving a little more plausible, would be enough of an explanation.

But it wasn't just the years of unspoken regrets and repressed feelings weighing on them, it was just life once again, being life as it was – unpredictable and ruthless, creating forks on the road randomly, not asking your opinion, just simply pushing you in a certain direction and abandoning you there. That was how he felt – abandoned both by life and by Scully. He would never have imagined she would ever do this, abandon him like this as if he were nothing, as if they didn't mean anything to each other. Where was his Scully that never gave up on a fight? Where was the Scully that went to Puerto Rico and to the Bermuda Triangle and to Africa and to god knows where for him? Where was the Scully that refused to let him go, that refused to let him die, that refused to let him face his fate alone? And where was the Mulder that would do all that and more for her? Where was he hidden? Why was he refusing to let her help him when she tried?

They stayed in silence for what seemed like forever, each facing a different side of the wall and having their own internal struggles. He wanted to punch one of these walls or a boxing bag; he wanted to hold her by the shoulders and literally shake some sense into her, to try and make her see the light; he wanted to kiss her and make love to her and promise her the world and beg her not to leave him this way. He was not above begging.

Just as he thought of it, he felt a light touch on his elbow, making him turn around immediately to face her. She touched his face, so tenderly he had to close his eyes in order not to cry. Her thumb ran all along his jaw slowly, stopping at his lips. He opened his eyes and met her eyes, intense, looking at him with such sorrow and such desire it almost blew his mind that such two different things could go so well together. He didn't wait for a sign, he just crashed his lips against hers, hard, kind of expecting her to pull away, to hit his chest and run away from him for good. Instead, she kissed him back just as hard, her hands desperately tugging at his t-shirt, almost tearing it as she yanked it out of him over his head, sending it flying somewhere in the bedroom. He lifted her off the floor by hooking his arms under her thighs, making her legs wrap around his hips as she kept on kissing and kissing and kissing his mouth, her tongue dominating his. Was she having second thoughts about her decision?

When she broke the kiss, he was sure she was coming to her senses, in her very Scully way, realizing that she was making yet another mistake. But she surprised him with her words. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, sad, her eyes were a mixture of lust and pain.

"This doesn't change anything."

Their communication hadn't been so good in the past few months, but he understood. She was giving him the option of never touching her again or having her one last time. Even in this dark hour, in this weird parallel universe they had somehow found themselves in, he could understand what she was actually saying: she wanted to protect him from his feelings, she wanted to protect him from _her_ feelings, she wanted to let him know that she wasn't the selfish woman he was thinking she had become.

He considered her words while looking at her lips and then back at her eyes, her hungry eyes, the eyes that once were his beautiful and perfect haven, his safety net. What would hurt less: one last time or no time at all? Did it even matter? She wanted this and, after everything, how could he deny her anything? Didn't she own his soul anyway? Did he even have a real choice or chance?

He captured her lips in his, giving her his answer. If that was how it was supposed to be, so be it. He would deal with his feelings later. The way she kissed him back left no room for misunderstandings - she didn't want to make love, she wanted to be fucked, she wanted him to make her forget. He knew it because he had seen and felt her desperation before, right in the beginning of their lives together, those rare moments when she would just cry and ask him – no, she would beg him – to make love to her until she forgot her own name, to fuck the pain out of her.

So, he deposited her on the bed, watching her pant as he undid his belt and then got rid of his pants and boxers quickly, and as she stripped naked with the same agility, her top and bra being discarded in record time, her pants and underwear getting off her body with a swing of her hips, agile hands and the arching of her back. He ran his hand up her naked legs slowly and she gasped, biting her lower lip unconsciously. He knew he was torturing her by not entering her soon, not giving her what she wanted when she wanted it. He only saw her like this when she didn't want any foreplay, when she was already ready for him, just waiting for him to fill her completely. But he wanted to punish her in some way for leaving him, for abandoning all they had created together along all these years. He wanted to torture her and, if taking it slow was all he had, that was what he would do. He would take what he could get when it came to her, always.

He got down on his knees and she moaned as he sucked a spot on her inner thigh and then bit it a little too hard. That was going to leave a mark, but he didn't care. Her moans were indication enough that he wasn't hurting her, that it was just adding to her pleasure, to her anticipation, even though she was clearly simultaneously frustrated that he was taking his time instead of pounding into her. But he wanted to frustrate her, it was all just part of the torture. Didn't she see what her leaving would do to him? He wanted to make sure she knew.

He moved from her inner thigh to her center and started licking her folds, getting a moan out of her so loud he bet even their neighbors from two blocks away could hear.

Good. That was what he liked to hear. If she was leaving him, then at least he would make her moan and whimper and groan, to a point where every time she breathed she would remember him, would miss him, to a point she might consider not leaving him at all.

She was getting impatient, raising her hips a little, demanding his tongue to be where she wanted it to be.

Not so fast, Scully, not so fast.

Hadn't they always taken things too slow? Why change now?

He took his face away from her sex, devouring her whole with his eyes only, rubbing her calves as his eyes went up and up and up until they met hers. He wasn't sure what he wanted, he wasn't even sure why he had stopped his ministrations with his tongue, but he wanted to look at her, to see what her eyes were telling him. He wanted a clue, any clue at all, that she was joking, that she didn't mean it when she said she was not coming back. But her eyes only told him, "fuck me before it's too late."

So, he stood up again and grabbed her legs, dragging her down the bed, bringing her thighs to rest at his sides, her hips raised off the bed, his hands gripping her hips to align their sexes without too much effort. She whimpered at the force with each he pulled her and as he teased her by running his cock along her opening.

He smiled, almost sadly, knowing that this was the last time he would get to do this, that she wouldn't writhe under him anymore, that she would probably find someone else and that she would writhe under this person instead. As for him, he might as well go celibate because there would never be anyone like her. Her wildness, along with her love, sweetness and care, made their connection seem heavenly every single time they made love, made him believe in soulmates and in a higher power, made him believe in aliens and in humans alike. How could he connect with anyone that way again? He couldn't be sure of anything anymore, except for one thing: there was no life after Scully. Whatever hardships life had put him through before paled in comparison to trying to keep on living in her absence.

How didn't she know what she was doing by leaving him? Or maybe she did, and she was punishing him for all the bad things he had brought into her life along the years, all the pain, all the losses, all the suffering, all the tragedy that had unraveled from the moment she stepped into his office.

He grazed his nails all along her thighs, watching as his touch sent goosebumps all over her body and as she closed her eyes to feel whatever it was that his touch was doing to her. He was going to miss seeing her this way.

"Mulder, please…"

Her voice left her mouth in a high-pitched tone, and he understood all too well what it meant. It meant that she too wasn't above begging.

But if she was leaving, why was she begging like this? Why was she choosing to make love to him one last time instead of just turning around and closing the door behind her? Maybe there was a chance. Maybe there was hope.

Except there wasn't, she had said so.

He griped her hip with one hand and grabbed himself with the other, positioning himself against her and penetrating her while her eyes were still fully closed. She gasped in surprise and a smile almost broke on her face. He knew that smile too well not to know that it was trying to make an appearance. She resisted it though and accommodated him a little more, her walls tightening their grip on him as if saying, "You belong here. You're mine forever."

It was the truth, he was hers forever, even if she didn't want to be his forever anymore.

There was a time she had wanted forever, a time when they had promised each other forever, in wedding vows disguised as post-coital ramblings. When had it all changed? He wished he had the power to pinpoint the exact moment when she decided she didn't want to stay with him forever anymore. Sure, she had expressed it a few times in the past months, she had said she was tired of fighting, tired of trying to help him when he didn't seem to want help. Her announcing she was moving out was just the last part of it all, but not the decision itself. What he really wanted to know was when exactly the switch had been flicked from 'Forever' to 'Never', from 'I wouldn't want a life without you' to 'I wish I had never met you'.

He thrusted once more inside of her and her moans filled the room as he hit her g-spot just the right way.

"Faster."

She whispered, as she rolled her own nipples between her fingers, in that amazing way she always did and that always drove him crazy.

He drove into her, faster and then even faster, the way she wanted it, the way she needed it, the way she was begging him to do. He watched as her breasts bounced with the force of his thrusts, as the air got caught in her throat, as she tried to say his name but all that she could let out was a quiet 'Mul' before he pumped into her again and she rolled her eyes in pleasure.

Her hands grabbed the sheets, her eyes closed, and he was not sure if she had closed them to feel him entirely or if she had closed them because she was fighting back tears.

He slowed his movements at this realization. Would she ever change her mind? Would she ever come back to him? Was there something he could do that would make her decide to unpack her bags and forget this conversation had even happened?

She opened her eyes as she realized he had slowed down and her eyes were not full of tears as he had been expecting, but full of something else he thought he had already lost – love. She rubbed the hand that was gripping her hip, tenderly, almost as if she had suddenly forgotten this was not a sweet lovemaking moment, but actually a sad, angry one. He let go of her legs and got off of her momentarily, kneeling on the bed between her legs as she scooted up in bed to allow them to be completely lying on it. He lay on top of her, slowly, reaching her neck with his lips, giving her open-mouthed kisses, sucking the erogenous zone in there, wishing that he could forget for a moment that this wasn't the last time he was tasting her skin, hearing her moans, smelling her arousal, feeling her wetness around him, feeling her heartbeat against his mouth, against his ears, against his palm.

He shifted a little and entered her again, slowly. She gyrated her hips slowly under him, sensually, so painfully good he felt like crying. Instead of crying, he whispered in her ear as he thrusted once.

"I love you"

A low groan came out of her throat, but she didn't say anything back.

He didn't need to hear anything from her, but he needed to say it, she needed to know. She needed to know in case she had forgotten or in case she didn't believe him anymore.

"I love you."

He whispered, as he bit her lower lip slowly and then let it go to kiss her chin.

"I love you."

He whispered, after tracing a path of kisses from her chin to her earlobe.

"I love you."

He whispered before inserting his tongue into her ear and making her squirm under him, her nails digging into the skin of his back in an attempt to press him against her a little more.

"Harder."

Was all she could say, and he was not sure if she was asking him to fuck her harder or love her harder.

So he fucked her harder because he didn't think it was possible for him to love her harder. Even if he lived a thousand lives, even then it would be impossible. She was his entire heart and soul and everything else that composed his very being. At this point in his life, he was not only Fox Mulder anymore – he was a mix of himself and her, as if she had been welded into him. How would he survive without her?

They moved in tandem, meeting each other thrust for thrust, faster, harder, wordlessly. What was the use for words anyway? They had learned to live in silence, silence made them happy, silence made them communicate with their eyes in a way no one else in the world could do. Silence was better than words that wouldn't make any difference at the end of the day. He tried not to think that it was also silence that was killing them.

He kissed her lips again, their tongues meeting in that kind of dance only they could do, their teeth clinking a little as they fought for control. Control didn't matter now anyway. She had won, he had lost. Or maybe he had won, and she had lost. No. They had both lost this time. It hurt to think that way, but it was the truth. They were giving up on each other. What had happened to her promise of not giving up on them, that one she had made once after he woke up from one of his nightmares? Had she forgotten about that?

He slowed down again and then got off of her. She looked disappointed, surprised, and there was also something else in her eyes he was having a hard time figuring out. He missed the days when he could read those blue eyes better than anything else in the world. He missed the days when she was willing to share with him what was going on inside her head. He missed the days when he was willing to listen.

He rolled on his back, his eyes never leaving hers. Then, he took one of her hands in his and kissed her wrist, pulling her towards him right after. He knew she liked to be on top and if this was their last time ever, he wanted his last chance of watching as she kneaded her own breasts, as she rode him perfectly, as she let her head fall back as he circled her clit with his thumb while following the movements she would make with her hips. He wanted a last chance of seeing her surrender to orgasm looking like the goddess she was.

She understood what he wanted because she promptly straddled him and, when she sank onto him and he entered her again, he almost saw stars.

She rode him in silence, only small gasps leaving her mouth from time to time, her teeth biting her lower lip and making her look sexier than ever. He touched her clit with his thumb, rubbing it slowly in the same rhythm as she was gyrating her hips.

She murmured something, but words didn't come out coherently from her mouth. Luckily, he had spent too many years sleeping with her not to know that she was about to come. All the signs were there.

So, although he never wanted this to end, he sat up, hitting her g-spot just right, cupping and then kneading her breasts as he felt her walls tighten around him a bit more. He thrusted into her once again, putting his lips to her ear and then whispering.

"Come for me one last time."

She gyrated her hips faster urging him to follow her speed and, in a few moments, he heard her say his name aloud, in a moan that he wanted to record in his brain forever.

She slowed her movements as she rode out her orgasm, but that was enough to make him come as well, spilling his seed inside of her and wishing that it would create life, that at least part of him would stay with her forever. He knew how improbable that was and that only amounted to his pain.

A sound reached his ears and he could only understand what was happening when he felt her body collapse on his and her arms hold him tightly. Along the years, he had seen plenty of her reactions to orgasm, from loud moans, to more coherent words such as 'fuck', to 'Mulderrr' (and the stress on the syllables varied depending on the day), to sweeter things like 'I love you', but never in all those years had he heard her cry. This was the first time.

He was suddenly worried, so the words left his mouth before he could think about them.

"Did I hurt you?"

Wrong question, Mulder. Wrong question.

She cried even harder and he didn't know what to do other than hug her tight. He couldn't remember the last time they had hugged like this. Not that he needed any more reminders of why she was leaving him, but that might be another reason.

When she spoke, her voice was full of emotion. She could barely keep the tears from choking her throat.

"I'm going to miss you."

Tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

"Why are you going, then?"

Stay. Please, stay.

"We keep hurting each other, Mulder. This is not right. I love you, but I have to go."

There was reason to what she was saying, as always, and he couldn't argue against it. She wanted him to change, he wanted her to accept him for who he was – not who he was, who he had become – and they kept hitting walls because neither of them could be the person the other needed.

He would miss her reasoning every single day.

He kissed her cheek, not stopping his tears from falling anymore.

She kissed his ear and caressed his hair, then she sighed.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself."

Promise.

What a word!

He couldn't promise her anything anymore, he was tired. Tired of not being able to keep his promises, tired of promising, tired of hearing promises that could never be fulfilled. Why would this promise be any different now? He couldn't promise her that because he wasn't taking enough care of himself even with her there, why would he do it after she was gone? There was no point whatsoever, but it was what she needed to hear, so he nodded.

He had one last request, though.

"Stay with me tonight. Just tonight. I promise I won't hold you back in the morning if you still want to go. Just stay with me at least for now before you give up on me."

She hesitated, but she nodded. Then she kissed his forehead, his nose, and then his lips - I'll protect you, I'm here, I love you.

Even their unspoken code wouldn't have any meaning anymore after she went through that door. He didn't think there was even space in his heart or his mind to be even sadder than he was, so numbness took over.

She hissed as she got off his lap, unjoining them. Funny how words always had to have double meanings for them, even when they were only in his mind, even when it came to sex. Their bodies were disconnecting and so were their lives.

She lay on her side and let him hug her until they fell asleep.

When he woke up, she was gone.

It was still hard to believe this hadn't been all a dream, that this was his life now and he would have to learn how to deal with it and make the best he could. He wasn't sure he could, he didn't even know how.

They should have never unburied him in the first place, he should have stayed dead. Scully's life would certainly have been different. Maybe she wouldn't have had to give William up, maybe she would have found someone else to love and who loved her like she deserved to be loved. It sucked that he couldn't change the past, how many times had he said that already?

He closed his eyes again, shutting them tight and wishing for the picture to be different when he opened them, just like 10 (or 12) year-old Mulder would do sometimes. But when he opened them again, there was just a white ceiling that needed to be painted, a room that needed to be cleaned, a bed with an empty space and an empty soul lying side by side.

He cried.

Waking up to reality had never been this hard.


	14. The Hardest Part

**2014**

The first time they talked after she left was a month later. She had called out of concern, she had said, she just wanted to make sure he was taking care of himself. He highly doubted that was the real reason, but he accepted it anyway. Only hearing her voice was enough. But silence had prevailed, and they couldn't say anything else after he lied the best way he could that he was taking care of himself, or that he was at least trying. He didn't ask her about the hospital or about how her days were now that she didn't have to babysit him anymore. She promised to call again before hanging up, but he wasn't sure she would.

One month later, his phone rang again. It rang and rang and rang and rang, until he felt like taking it off the hook, just so it would stop with that annoying noise. Instead, he just kept staring at the wall that still held a picture of them together, smiles frozen in time, smiles that seemed to belong to other people that looked exactly like them, but that weren't really them, strangers in a once-familiar home. The phone stopped ringing, eventually, but it seemed like it had been ringing for at least half an hour. He wouldn't know, of course, because he didn't keep track of time anymore. He didn't need to, there was no point in doing things like this anymore. He didn't have a job, he didn't have a wife, he didn't have children, he didn't have a dog, and he didn't even have a plant to tend to. He also didn't need to save the world, so why bother with time? The notion of time disappears when life has no meaning.

The phone rang again and again and again until it stopped suddenly and gave way to the sound of keys being turned on his front door in rushed, desperate hands. The next thing he knew she was by his side, her hands rubbing his arms up and down as if she was trying to warm him up, her voice covered with worry as she tried to get him to speak. He couldn't be sure, but he thought she was asking about the last time he had showered. Why did it matter to her anyway? She didn't sleep in his bed anymore, it shouldn't matter. And then she raised his chin, making him focus on her eyes. Her eyes. The only thing that grounded him and made him see reality for what it was through all the madness the world imposed on him. It was only by looking into her eyes that he realized that she was right – he couldn't remember the last time he had showered, he had a stubble that seemed to be there for about a week, and he was wearing the same clothes he had taken out of the washing machine a long, long time ago. She guided him to the bathroom, helped him out of his clothes and forced him to take a shower. When he finally got out of the bathroom, having washed the dirtiness and a little of his mind, she was waiting in a much more organized living room (how did she do that in such a little time?) with a business card in her hands, which read "Dr. Daniel Goldenberg, psychiatrist". Before he could protest that he didn't need a psychiatrist, she added that he worked with her at the hospital and that, although they didn't know each other except for the occasional gatherings, his reputation preceded him. She also added that his practice was nowhere near the hospital, so he didn't have to worry he was going to see her there.

She ended the conversation (monologue, rather) by saying, "I would ask you to do this for me, but I guess that's not how things work anymore."

Then she looked away and walked towards the door, closing it behind her as she left the house for the second time in two months. He didn't even have a chance to say he was happy to see her or thank her for helping once again.

Her words hang around his brain for at least a week before he could pick up the phone and set up an appointment with Dr. Goldenberg.

The psychiatrist referred him to a psychologist and things started moving forward, albeit slowly. He still had moments when he felt hopeless and when he felt depression creeping up on him again, but most days he was doing well. Therapy was helping, the meds were helping, and he was beginning to feel like himself again, like the Mulder that used to make jokes out of everything, the Mulder who had a few out-there theories but that had some rationality inside of him too, like the Mulder that Scully had fallen in love with.

Would it be possible for her to fall in love with him again? Had she fallen out of love with him in the first place?

It was hard to read her mind these days, she seemed so different…

Sitting across from her in this cozy coffee shop she liked, he observed as she licked her lips, absentmindedly, her gaze focused at some random point on the menu in front of her, as if she was deep in thought about something he wasn't privy to. He couldn't help but think that there was something she wasn't telling him, something that she wanted to tell him but couldn't find a way or the right time. He hoped it was all in his head, but too many years living with a person makes you pick up on the smallest things, the smallest details, their telltale signs that something is not quite right. This was the Scully he was seeing in front of him right now, and he wondered when she was going to tell him what was inside her head.

Although he sensed something wasn't exactly as she wanted it to be, there was a glow to her he hadn't seen in a long while, a glow he had only seen in times when she was happy. What was the reason behind this glow and the small smile he saw at the corner of her lips? All he wanted in the world - all he had ever wanted and would always want - was for her to be happy, but he couldn't help feeling left out for not being part of that happiness, for not sharing it with her as he had so many times before. He also felt guilty for knowing that he was also part of the unhappiness that made her leave in the first place. He still didn't know how long she had been unhappy before she left, but he now knew it was a type of unhappiness that had been building up slowly, hiding behind the shadows, unbeknownst to him and, he suspected, even to her at times. He was glad that she had realized it before it was too late, before she too got caught up in depression herself, but he couldn't help feeling that this was all wrong and that he was the only one seeing that things should be different than what they actually were.

He shook his head in hopes that the movement would also shake these thoughts away. It was worthless thinking about it all now. The past was the past, as his psychologist said sometimes, it couldn't be changed. What he had to focus on was the present, the here and now. This was difficult, maybe even the hardest part of his recovery – letting go of the past, not taking part in her life, trying to find a reason to live his own life alone.

It was hard to remember his life without her, not only because 22 years was a long time, but also because the only purpose he had before meeting her was to find his sister and the truth, and now that both these subjects were solved, he had nothing to look forward to, nothing that he could set as an objective. The only other objective he could think of he couldn't achieve for reasons that were out of his control - he had tried to find William a few times (without telling Scully, of course), but he never found anything concrete or any leads he could follow. Whoever had hidden their kid had done a great job.

So, what could he do now? Maybe he should go back to writing, to working on that book of which he had only written a few pages before he became obsessed with the end of the world. Yes, that was a good plan. At least that would keep him focused.

He took a sip of his coffee and observed as a strand of hair fell over her face and she tucked it back behind her ear before raising her cup to her lips. He smiled at the sight.

She had cut her hair shorter, but not as short as she used to wear it back in the day. It was shoulder-length now and she had stopped straightening it, so the tips were naturally curled. It was a look that for years she wore for his eyes only, but now it was here for the whole world to see. It was still special, even if it had lost its meaning of secrecy, of intimacy, of comfort. She was beautiful. He wished he could tell her that. He wished he could tell her a lot of things, like how happy he was that they were becoming friends again, and how he would welcome her in his arms anytime she wanted to.

There was one thing he had on the forefront of his mind though, maybe the most important of them all, something he tried to keep at bay but that often bugged him and that he hoped he could express one day to let go of this feeling for good.

 _You really broke my heart._

He heard her gasp, watched as her attention immediately changed from her cup of coffee to him, and it was only because of her body language that he realized he had said it aloud. He had been practicing this in therapy, how to let his feelings out and not keep them to himself only, to let go of things that didn't belong to him, to allow himself to be free of self-destructive feelings, but this wasn't how he had intended to do it. Not here, not now, not like this.

He closed his eyes, holding back the tears that came involuntarily as the shock of realizing he had said such a mean thing aloud hit him. For years he had known breaking his heart was one of her greatest fears, but somehow along the road he had just forgotten about it or simply stopped believing she would ever do this. He feared that by saying it aloud now it would bring her feelings back, that it might harm their fragile relationship, that it might jeopardize everything he had worked so hard to gain back, like her trust and her friendship and maybe even her love.

He waited to open his eyes again, already wondering how he would apologize, afraid she would have run away again by the time his eyelids were back in place. But when his eyes focused back on hers and his mouth half-opened to start to say, 'I'm sorry', she shook her head, in that way she did when she was caught by surprise but saw truth in what her counterpart was telling her.

"You're right, I did. And I'm sorry." Then she sighed deeply, her shoulders rising and falling as she seemed to gain strength to continue. "You broke mine too."

Fair enough, he deserved it.

Was there a way to unbreak hearts? Not mend, really unbreak. He would, if he could. Where was that time machine when he needed it?

 _Don't think about what could have been, Fox. Just don't._

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but the clock on the wall announced it was just seconds.

Finally, his voice came out, a little more emotional than he intended.

"I'm sorry too. More than I could ever tell you."

She smiled and, for the first time since that day she had last come to the house, she touched him. One of her hands covered the hand he had on the table and she traced little circles in there with her thumb. He was always amazed by how her hand was so small compared to his and how it seemed to fit just right, mold into his as if they were made specifically for each other.

Did this mean anything?

He looked at her expectantly.

"I know," she finally said.

Her hand stayed on his and he remembered how easy it was for them to just calm one another with such a simple touch. He was suddenly thankful that she had thought of getting him out of that little house every once in a while. It was her way of reminding him that contact with humans from time to time was more important than trying to contact aliens.

The first time they went out together was for a morning run. She had called him out of the blue and asked him to meet her at a park near their house – his house, he kept forgetting - and they ran together side by side for one hour straight, not saying a word, just letting it all out in sweat and pants that, for once, weren't related to sex.

Then he called her the following month, inviting her to have lunch with him during her lunchtime and she accepted promptly. So now, sporadically, every month or every couple of months they would go out together, even if they didn't have much to talk about sometimes, as if whatever needed to be said had already been said and that they were meeting up as a way of trying to heal. It was why they were now in this awkward situation in a café, over a year after breaking up, still trying to find common topics to talk about, still trying to find something good about the other in a way they hadn't done since before they started feeling different things about each other. He wondered if they were starting to feel different things about each other just now. He knew what he felt, but he didn't know how she felt. She remained a mystery to him, now even more than ever.

The waitress came over with their check and he knew it was their cue to leave. Their time was up once again, she had to go back to her life and he had to go back to his, as if it was the natural thing to do, as if it didn't feel weird to go back to their own places completely alone after so many years of being together.

He paid and then followed her out of the café, his hands going straight to his pants pockets as a way of avoiding touching the small of her back. It was particularly hard to remember that that place wasn't his anymore, that even though they were trying to be friends, that gesture belonged to a different time, to a different life, to different Mulders and Scullys. Sometimes he wondered if he really hadn't fallen into an alternate universe where things had gone terribly wrong and he was stuck in there. He would have to do some research on that some time.

He held the door open for her to go through and they walked side by side as they left the place, until they reached her car. She asked if he wanted a ride and he refused politely. He didn't know if he was ready to be with her in a closed space for more than half an hour and she had told him between sips of coffee that she had an early shift the next day, so he knew that if she gave him a ride, some of her rest time would certainly be compromised. He thanked her anyway and, before he could realize what he was doing, he bent down and pressed his lips to hers.

There was still a hint of coffee on her lips and, when their tongues met briefly, he also tasted the muffin she had ordered and that other thing that he classified as 'the Scully taste'. He missed that familiar taste so much it almost hurt.

But his happiness was cut short as she pulled away, breaking the kiss, and pressed her forehead to his instead, closing her eyes as she spoke.

"Mulder, I'm seeing someone."

Oh, so this was what she wasn't telling him and maybe the reason for the glow he saw on her face. Now her taste in his mouth was really bittersweet.

Not that he was surprised, he wasn't. After all, she was gorgeous, she was friendly, she still had the greatest laughter in the world, and a heart of gold. Who wouldn't fall in love with her?

He thought of taking a step back and away from her personal space, but she seemed to be comfortable sharing her space and air with him, as if he still belonged there despite everything. So, he stayed, one hand still cupping her face and the other on her waist.

He was dumbfounded, though, being hit full force by what she had said. He wasn't expecting this.

As if she sensed what he was thinking, she continued, her voice almost a whisper.

"This is what I came here to tell you today. I'm trying to move on but you're not exactly easy to forget, you know?" He saw a weak smile at the corner of her mouth before she sighed. "This means…"

He pressed two fingers to her lips, silencing her, because he knew exactly what this meant. No more phone calls, no more runs in the park, no more lunches, no more coffees on random Friday afternoons.

"I know what this means, Scully, don't worry, you don't have to explain."

He hoped the irritation he felt didn't transpire in his voice because he couldn't tell her that he was angry that she was moving on. How could she be moving on when they still had a beautiful life they could be living together? It was a rhetorical question to himself and he knew it. He knew exactly the reasons why she had left, and they had been through all this more than once. At some point he had stopped being what pushed her forward to start being what held her back. He couldn't be this selfish anymore, he had to let her go for her sake and for his own sake. Maybe this was what people called 'maturity'. Maybe it was his time to try and move on as well.

He didn't know if she loved the person she was seeing and, frankly, he didn't want to know. It was better to pretend at least for now that she would always love him as much as he loved her and that one day they would find their way back to each other, even if it took years.

He raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed it, lingering there, closing his eyes as he did so. This felt like a second break-up.

"You know where to find me."

He knew he didn't need to say much for her to understand. This six-word sentence meant that he wasn't going to try to win her back if she didn't want to. It meant that the ball was in her court now and she would have to make a move if she wanted to.

Then he let go of her hand and turned on his heels before he could see the tears fall from her wet eyes, and he started walking in the opposite direction. He wondered if walking all the way back home instead of getting a cab would be feasible and if it would help put his thoughts together and his feelings in the right place. Maybe the blisters that would remain would be enough of a distraction for a few days.


	15. Infinities

**2016**

How many entire worlds, upside down or otherwise, could fit into a hug? How many infinities made of broken promises and broken hearts and wounds that never healed could fit into two arms?

He didn't know, but his arms felt like they could hold infinities right now, all the infinities she needed, all the sorrow she wanted to deposit there, all the tears she wanted to cry on his shoulder or on his chest or wherever she saw fit. Even if they were apart, she was still his entire world and he was holding her together. That should count for something.

Her mother's ashes were now scattered all over the ocean; their emotions were now scattered all over their faces, especially hers.

Her mother's words had opened old wounds, unburied subjects she never knew she needed to talk about. The words started flowing out of her with the same force as the waves that now hit the rocks in this endless ocean, the blue of her eyes following the blue of the sea as she poured her feelings out, feelings that were connected to losing Maggie, to losing William and to losing him, sometimes joined together in the same sentence.

He rocked her gently while holding her tightly, knowing that the movement would help her calm down. He had held her too many times like this not to know that, no matter what happened, his arms would always be her safety net. He remembered holding her like this during sad moments, during happy moments, during stressful moments, feeling her heartbeat against his while they just stood there or while they followed the rhythm of some song that was playing in the background and that served as a dance song whenever she was feeling restless. She would always smile afterwards, sometimes she would kiss his lips, and sometimes she would just say 'thank you' to let him know she appreciated what he did for her. He missed those days.

He rubbed her back now as he heard her starting to sob again, and then kissed the top of her head, whispering over and over again.

"I'm here. I got you."

He held her for her sorrow, for his sorrow, for their joint sorrow, for the pains they had caused each other and for the joy and comfort each other's arms provided.

She had called him Fox just a while ago while talking about how she thought she had failed William. She never called him Fox except on very rare occasions when she was feeling too emotional, too overwhelmed, too tired to make her brain say his last name instead of his first. He had always assumed that his last name always came naturally to her as hers came to him, but now he was starting to realize that maybe she had trained her brain to call him 'Mulder' and that now that they were working together again, it slipped back into very old patterns, patterns from the beginning of their partnership and friendship, from times when she wished she could call him Fox but was instructed to call him Mulder instead. Maybe he should let her know that he didn't mind if she called him by his given name now, that he wouldn't mind anything she wanted to call him. He had always thought it was implied that he would do anything for her, even if it hurt him, like letting her go when all he wanted was for her to stay.

Thinking of this made him hug her tighter and, in the space and time that the shelter of his arms provided, he hoped she felt safe, he hoped she felt loved, he hoped she felt protected. He had once promised not to take her for granted, but he had broken that promise. He hoped she knew how he regretted it.

The past three years had been a mix between a nightmare and plain and cruel reality, but he was thankful for the number of things he had learned in that period. Being away from her had been painful, but it had also taught him a lot more than he had ever learned about life on planet Earth, about himself, about what love really meant. Because he loved her, and that was a fact that would never ever change.

He had tried not to love her when she said she was seeing someone else, he had tried to hate her for breaking the vows she had made of never leaving him because he thought that not being officially married didn't justify not following through with the promises they had made to each other. They were more than work partners, more than friends, they were life partners, so it should go without saying that a piece of paper shouldn't be the glue that held them together.

He had tried to hate her then for keeping her distance even when she knew the state he was in. He had tried to hate her for so many things that a part of him went bitter, a part of him played with words such as 'For better or for worse' in front of other people just to remind her how cruel it had been that she had just left him, left their life behind because she couldn't handle the 'for worse' part. Part of him was happy that she had broken off her relationship with someone else because part of him still believed that she belonged to him, as if she were an object that could be owned. And then he had realized that the fact that he was treating her like an object was one of the very reasons why she had left, and he hated himself for it and for all the times he had tried to hate her. He had tried to hate her, but he ended up hating himself instead. He had tried to hate her an infinite number of times, but he just couldn't make himself hate her entirely, he couldn't find enough reason to. If anything, in trying to hate her, he only found reasons to love her more.

He loved her more every time he found a piece of clothing of hers tangled with his in a random drawer, every time she would email him something with nothing but an attachment and the words, 'Saw this and thought of you. S.', or every time he passed by her in one of the hospital's many hallways whenever he needed to have his blood tested and he somehow found himself at the Our Lady of Sorrows instead of the other much closer hospitals he passed on the way there.

She had never been entirely out of his life, but they had only really started talking again properly when life forced them together again, when the X-Files invited them back in and they just couldn't say no.

The beginning of their new partnership (as new as old partnerships could be) had been a little awkward, as they both were still trying to find their footing, still trying to be friends after everything, still trying not to slip into old patterns and completely forget about a past that had hurt them more times than they could count.

But little by little, things started to go back to normal. They started letting each other in again, they started to allow their so-familiar banter to come back, they started to see that, no matter how hard life tried to keep them apart, they would always find their way back to each other, even if not romantically. It was almost as if they were connected by an invisible thread, controlled by something or someone out there, an invisible power that maneuvered them around and made sure things happened a certain way, that things happened for a reason.

It was easier to believe in things like that now that he saw that their roads always met at some point, that no matter how many different paths they took, they always ended up meeting at an intersection or another. The fact that this time the road seemed to have led them to the same place and they would have to walk side by side once again was proof enough that he was right. Their love was an infinity on its own, tangling and shifting, but never ending.

It hurt a little that they might not be a couple again, but he could deal with it. He had dealt with a lot worse, so he knew he could and would survive this. He hoped things changed, though, and that she would come around one day. He had promised that the only way they could go back to being a couple was if she decided she wanted to, if she was certain she wanted to. He even avoided touching her these days for fear that the electricity between them would be too overwhelming, too strong for him to resist it.

But there were exceptions like the one right now.

Her mom was dead, so he hugged her.

Their child was somewhere out there, and she thought she had treated him like trash, so he hugged her.

Their tears were falling freely down their faces, so he hugged her.

Their fate had reconnected them, so he hugged her.

He hugged her for all that was, for all that is, for all that will be, for all that could be, for all that could have been. He hugged her for loving her, he hugged her for trying to hate her, he hugged her for having abandoned her long before she abandoned him, he hugged her for not giving her the life that she deserved, he hugged her for getting caught and being arrested, he hugged her for not standing by her side, he hugged her for not protecting their son, he hugged her for having been abducted, he hugged her for not telling her he had a rare brain disease, he hugged her for not trying to kiss her sooner, he hugged her for driving her crazy with his theories, he hugged her for his life wouldn't be complete without her.

He hugged her for Maggie, for William, for Melissa.

He hugged her for she was the only family he had left in the world.

He hoped she understood what this ten-minute hug meant. He hoped she knew how sorry he was that Maggie was gone. He hoped she knew how sorry he was about every single thing he couldn't take back. He hoped she knew this hug meant infinities he could never put into words.

He rocked her gently once again and a gust of wind came from the sea and enveloped them. It was suddenly so cold that he felt her shiver even in the warmth of his arms.

He kissed her forehead and whispered softly, almost afraid that by speaking anything other than words of comfort he would end up bursting this invisible bubble they had created around them.

"Let's get out of here."

Her hair tickled his chin as she nodded, and he smiled in spite of himself. It had been a long while since the last time her head was this close to tickle his chin like this.

He was ready to disentangle himself from her, but she held on, going up on her tiptoes so her lips could reach his cheek. She lingered there in a way that made his heart fill with love, as if the kiss itself contained an infinitude of meanings, just like his ten-minute hug. When she let go, she looked him in the eye and smiled weakly, her eyes still a little wet.

"Thank you for being here for me."

He didn't need to think before replying.

"Always."

He wanted to add that she was his family, that without her he was incomplete, that her losses were his losses too, but he knew it wasn't necessary. He knew she knew. She always knew.

Then she surprised him by holding his hand and lacing their fingers together, inviting him to walk with her without using words, in the same way they did back in the ordinary house sometimes, back in those days when everything was all roses despite the fact that he was a fugitive wanted by the FBI.

He smiled at her and started walking silently beside her, feeling that this was somehow her release from all the things she felt guilty about, that letting them out in the shape of tears and words would help her move on with parts of her life that were still in the past. Maybe he was projecting onto her what he himself was feeling.

He was sad for Maggie, he was sad for Scully, he was sad for all-things-William that had been unburied by Maggie's death, but he couldn't help also feeling hopeful that everything was falling into place somehow and that even what hurt like hell now one day would be a thing of the past, that what hurt them now would one day also be okay.

He tightened his grip on her hand as they walked on, feeling more confident with every step that they were going the right way, that they were walking the right path, regardless of where the road was leading them.

Another gust of wind hit them just as he thought of it and he observed as she closed her eyes and smiled softly, as if this new gust of wind had hit her in a different way, as if it had also meant something different to her, as if it had meant changes for the better even though everything looked and felt so sad.

He remembered that very case when she had called him Fox for the first time and how he had felt the winds of change back then, even if he couldn't explain it. He remembered she had thought he was talking about the caterpillar and he had said that no, that he was sensing a change for them. He had been right then, maybe he was also right now.

No, not maybe. He was sure he was right this time too, as sure as the air they breathed, as sure as the wind blowing on their faces, and as sure as the reality of her fingers caressing his knuckles just now. It was time to leave the word 'maybe' behind and embrace the certainties and infinities that the future would bring.


	16. Turbulence

**2018**

He woke up suddenly, needing a few seconds to look around and remember where he was. An airplane. Oh yes, that's right. Another few hours of sleep deprivation waited for them. He sighed and then yawned as his eyes examined his surroundings and then stopped at the small redhead on the seat beside his. She was sound asleep, her head cocked to the right, her face relaxed like he hadn't seen in years. He thought of taking the stray lock of hair away from her face, as he had done so many times before, but he didn't want to wake her. She was just as exhausted as he was, since they had barely set foot in D.C. after the creepy twins' case when Skinner sent them flying across the country after another set of crazy people that were terrorizing a small town. They couldn't wait, he had said. People were dying, so the case needed to be solved as quickly as possible.

So here they were, on an airplane, trying to catch up on the sleep they had missed during the last couple of days. No, not on sleep they had missed, but on sleep they had willingly neglected. When they did have time to sleep, they somehow ended up in each other's arms while trying to figure out what the deal with Little Judy and Chucky Poundstone was. The whole thing had happened so fast that he hadn't had much time to think, let alone to try and talk to her about it. What exactly had that meant to her?

He wanted her back, it was no secret, even though he had never said it with those actual words. Instead, he said it with the insinuations and the innuendos that were always there; with a touch of his hand to the small of her back every now and again, reclaiming the spot that had once been "his"; he said it with a coffee and a muffin he brought to her for no reason other than to see her smile; he said it with the way he sometimes dropped by her place on some weekends to just hang out; he said it with being by her side every time she needed him; he said it with the way he checked her out sometimes, shamelessly, even if he was doing it unconsciously. He always saw her smirk when she caught him doing the latter, and it made his heart beat a little bit faster every time. His actions were his way of saying, "I'm ready when you are." He hoped her smirks were her way of saying, "I'll let you know when I am."

But he wasn't expecting her to walk into his room that night and ask him to hold her, even if he was not being so subtle about what he really would rather be doing instead of sleeping. It was true that they had gotten much closer again after they resumed their partnership at the FBI, it was true that they had become good friends again despite all their past problems, it was true that their sexual tension had built up to such strong levels once again he had a hard time concentrating sometimes. But cuddles in bed were reserved to that part of their lives that had happened before she decided to leave. It was an intimacy that had happened so long ago that he sometimes wondered if it had indeed happened or if it was just a figment of his imagination. It was why her asking to be held because the case had gotten under her skin surprised him that much — because it might mean something else, it might mean she was trying to find a way of letting him into her life in that way again, it might mean that she was letting him know that she was ready.

So, he held her.

He let her speak, her words a little confusing to him at first because he was not sure where she was going with them. What he also knew was that she had always had trouble talking about her feelings, that it took some probing before she could finally say what was on her mind, what was in her heart.

So, he asked her.

He asked her questions to help her speak her mind and questions to which he really wanted to know the answer. How come they had never talked about having more kids? How come they had disregarded that topic, sweeping it under the rug together with all the other things they never talked about? The question that left his mouth was, "what's stopping you?", but what he was really asking was: what stopped us? They could have made it work if he had known she wanted another kid. They could have been a happy family of three, of four, of however many kids she wanted to have. He would always want anything and everything with her, and with her only.

Her mentioning the possibility of a younger woman on his path bothered him. If she, the one who had actually tried to date someone else after they broke up discarded completely the idea of meeting someone else and having that person's babies, why did she think that he would want that? Had he screwed things up so badly that she thought he would have wanted a life with somebody else? Didn't she know that she was the only thing that he would ever want regardless of her age or shape or hair color or whatever other insecurities she might have? He had just told her he would always be around and that he would come push her wheelchair with his wheelchair, but how else could he explain to her that he would never, ever, love anyone else? That he wouldn't change anything about her because she was just perfect to him exactly the way she was? He wanted to voice it to her in different ways, to find beautiful and sophisticated words to let her know every thought he couldn't translate. But deep down he knew that words didn't mean much to them, even after all these years of silence alternating between being their friend and their enemy. He knew that their way of communicating had always been with their eyes, with their touch, with the tone of their voices. He knew that their way of communicating meant a lot more than words could ever say.

So, he showed her.

With every roll of her nipples between his fingers, with every touch of his lips to every inch of her body, with every moan inside her ear, with every obscene word she got out of his lips, with every mention of her name — be it Scully, Dana, Love or however her name came out of his mouth when he was trying to prove his point — he showed her. His hope and wish were that, by the time her orgasm washed over her, she understood how amazingly perfect she was to him, how she shouldn't ever doubt herself because she was the most amazing being to ever grace the face of the Earth, that there would never be anyone who would even compare to her in any way, that she was timeless to him. He hoped and wished that he could make her believe that was how he truly felt, that it was how he had always felt, even during his darkest days.

As if in response to his thoughts, the lights of the plane blinked, leaving them in the dark for a couple of seconds and then going back to normal. These types of coincidences always amused him for being so random and yet so perfectly synchronized, just as synchronized as he and Scully seemed to be these days. He smiled again, the memories fresh in his mind about how just some hours after their perfect lovemaking she had played hard to get, but how, in the end, she had surrendered to him for the second time in less than a day.

He would have been disappointed, and his ego might have been even a little hurt if she hadn't opened the door that connected their adjoining spaces, but he would have respected the fact that maybe she just really wanted to relieve the tension that was killing her during the case and that their sleeping together didn't necessarily mean anything, that maybe he was reading too much into things. But from the moment she had started speaking, something had told him that she would come around. It was the look on her face, the way she hesitated a little while saying she couldn't imagine that she would need him for anything, the almost imperceptible questioning tone in her voice (a question that was more to herself than to him). It was why he had waited just behind the door, hoping he hadn't read her wrong, that all the signs were leading to her opening the door, that they were finally in sync again in a way they hadn't been in a long, long time.

And talking about long, long times, it had been a long time since he had last experienced such heavy turbulence on a flight. The plane shook and then fell a few inches before going back up again. He felt her grip before he could see one of her hands on top of his, as she looked for something to hold on to, as she tried not to panic. She was not afraid of flying, but turbulences scared her more than her rational brain could admit. Her eyes were fully open now, aware of their surroundings, and by the way she was breathing, he knew she was trying to make her heart rate go back to normal. He turned his hand so that his palm touched her palm, and she immediately and automatically laced their fingers together, almost as if nothing had ever changed between them. And in that sense, nothing had really changed. He was her comfort and she was his in times of turbulence.

He rubbed her thumb with his own and she looked at him, a thankful smile on her face, reminding him of just how much a simple touch and a simple exchange of reassuring looks made her relax. He smiled back at her, thankful for having her back in a way, thankful that she might be giving him another chance, even if things were to move slowly, if they were to move at all. Since they hadn't talked about it, he didn't know what to expect or hope from now on. Should he try and broach the subject just to clarify things? Should he assume that she would sneak into his room during the night in this new case they were about to start investigating? Should he sneak into her room? No, no, that was out of the question. He had to know for sure this was what she wanted before acting on his feelings. And what about when they went back to D.C.? Should he invite her back to his place? Should he start visiting her at her place more? Should he pretend nothing had happened and just say goodbye and see you tomorrow morning? God, he felt like he was back in 1999, trying to find out what she was thinking and what would or wouldn't cross the line. It was such a funny feeling he couldn't repress a chuckle.

She arched one of her eyebrows as she heard him laugh, and he only realized he had been staring at her too much because she was blushing slightly. He shook his head to let her know that no arched brows would get him to speak what was on his mind, and she smirked before turning her head to look at their hands laced together in that perfect little way only their hands could connect. The plane seemed to stabilize just as she averted her gaze, and for a moment he thought she was going to let go of his hand when she unlaced their fingers. Instead, she started tracing his palm with her index finger, just like she had traced his chest that second time they slept together just the day before, her nail following the outline of his unbuttoned shirt, as she slowly undid the remaining buttons of his shirt while biting her lower lip and then letting her other fingers join her index finger in the slow exploration of his bare chest when his shirt was fully open.

Now, as her other fingers joined her index finger in this caress on his hand, almost absentmindedly, he realized that those two occasions would be imprinted on his brain forever, that those two times their bodies met in unison would become an anniversary of some sort in his head.

He sighed as he felt just the ghost of her fingertips running along his fingers, barely touching, then tracing his long and curved heart line slowly, so very slowly he gasped, descending then to his short head line and ending just a little too soon, then proceeding to trace his broken life line, the one that accurately represented all the traumas life had put him through. Her touch on that specific line was almost as if she was connecting the dots, as though she was trying to connect the broken parts, trying to mend that line so that his life wouldn't be broken anymore. She probably wasn't thinking anything of the kind, but just by touching him like this it was exactly what she was doing – she was putting together the pieces of his heart that were still scattered all over the place, that were still healing. She repeated the movement a few times and it was almost agonizing. How could such a slight touch be so overwhelming and so good? How could it cause so many feelings at once? His heart was fluttering like a butterfly inside his chest, fueled by the love and the electricity her fingertips sent straight to his core. She had a way of touching him that sent messages (and blood) to every single part of his body in a way that made him feel more alive than ever, in a way that made him wish they were alone and not surrounded by dozens of people, just so he could transmit all that love and liveliness back to her in very creative ways.

He shifted on his seat to try to hide the effect she was having on him and she turned her head to him again, speaking in a low voice, just loud enough for him to hear.

"What do you say to dinner on Friday night?"

He wondered if the stupid grin that appeared suddenly on his face was enough of a reason to make her change her mind immediately, but apparently it wasn't because she smiled coyly. He made a great effort not to stumble on his words when he spoke.

"I would like that. Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know… somewhere nice. I'll let you choose."

He was thinking he could cook for her at their – his – unremarkable little house, or maybe he could cook for her at her apartment, but being at each other's places might make it too easy for them not to have dinner at all. Although skipping dinner altogether sounded like a wonderful idea, he knew what this was, what her invitation meant: she was testing the waters, taking it slow, doing things the way all other humans except the both of them did: going on a date first, then maybe on a second, then they would see what that led to. The fact that they had already been through the sex part was irrelevant right now. What mattered was what they were trying to build from now on. Starting anew could be a nice thing.

He nodded, lacing their hands back together.

"I'll think of something."

He smirked, knowing that what he had said was similar to the last words she had said before kissing him when she joined him in bed that night, a kiss that he had once thought he would never taste again, a kiss that filled him with hope at the very moment their lips touched and their tongues mingled.

She chuckled, probably realizing he had parroted her words back at her, and then she averted her gaze to some point in the sea of heads and seats in front of them. He thought she looked happy again, happier than the day when she told him she was seeing someone else, happier than when they started getting closer to each other again. He smiled again at the realization that she looked as happy as she was on that day when he taught her how to play baseball, as happy as on that night they went to the premiere of The Lazarus Bowl, as happy as when he held William in his arms for the first time and she couldn't wipe that beaming, gorgeous smile off her face.

The memory of holding William suddenly triggered a chain of thoughts — he thought of Maggie's last words and how they puzzled them both for they had been about William; he thought of the pain Scully had felt by losing her mother and the pain he had felt too; he thought of how their son was more present than ever in their lives in a way they could not have predicted; he thought of Scully's visions and how he never thought she would believe such a thing one day and that _he_ would be the one taking a long time to believe her; he thought of her belief in itself and how she had grown and matured, how she didn't roll her eyes at everything anymore and even bought into some of his theories, although in general she remained the same skeptic person he had met all those years ago; he thought of Scully leaving and of the many things he wished he could change about that period; he thought of his depression and the consequences of it; he thought of all the other pains they both had to bear throughout the years and how those very pains had shaped who they were today; he thought of so many other things simultaneously it was almost overwhelming his brain.

Thankfully, the plane had stopped shaking and he would be able to go back to sleep for at least a little while and forget about all these thoughts; hopefully he would dream about how perfect Scully had felt in his arms once again. But the thoughts he had just had were not that bad after all. He realized now that the literal turbulence they were going through on that plane was a perfect metaphor for their lives – they had been shaken and afraid so many times he had lost count, so many times sometimes they thought they wouldn't make it through, but they also knew that some of those fears and some of the shaking were all just fantasies that their rational minds could let go of with just a touch of a hand and a reassuring smile, and even if they weren't entirely fantasies, eventually their life would stabilize and they would be able to keep on moving smoothly until they reached their destination. He was certain that this time there was a beautiful and vast blue sky ahead. He could already see it.

Scully squeezed his hand and smiled, as if in response to his thoughts, as if she had been inside his head all along, as though she too believed in this vast blue sky he saw. Things were always better when she believed them too.

His smile was still on his face when he closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep again, hoping this case would be solved soon, hoping Friday night would come sooner rather than later. He really couldn't wait.


	17. Hope

**Now**

The first time he had thought of her as a mother was so many years ago he sometimes thought it was in a different life. It was during a disturbing case and somehow, they ended up talking about having babies, about über-Scullys and about his family's genetics. It had been the first time he had seen her as a mother, but now that he thought of it, it might have also been the first time she had seen him as a father. Not only that, but it might also mean that, by that time, her feelings for him were also more than a friend's feeling, more than a sibling's feeling, more than what she back then couldn't admit to herself either. And if he was being honest, it was the first time he saw himself as a father, too.

Before her, he had never thought of having a family of his own, but after she came into his life, something changed, some kind of light lit inside of him in that respect. He remembered having tried to shake the thought of a redheaded green-eyed girl or a blue-eyed dark-haired boy away from his mind when she asked him about his family's genetics, but it was too late; he had already started considering how a mix between Scully's and his genes would look like, the same way he did years later when she asked him to donate his sperm for her only chance to be a mother. If only they had known what life had in store for them. He chuckled, thinking of the absurdity of everything that had happened since that day, having forgotten for a while that he wasn't alone in the porch of his unremarkable house – their unremarkable house – and that Scully might throw annoyed looks at him if he dared to try and make her lose her concentration. He looked to his right, where she sat completely glued to the words of the book in front of her, barely blinking as her eyes went from one side of the page to the other, apparently oblivious to his laughter, one of her hands caressing her swollen belly absentmindedly.

It was hard to believe this was happening again, that they were both having a second chance, that life was giving them a break for once. It was hard to believe it wasn't just the calm before the storm once again, that something wouldn't happen eventually to make them suffer. Sometimes he felt like a character in a book, being maneuvered around the way the writer saw fit, and the writer of his life particularly liked suffering for some weird reason. It was hard to believe that this time his story would have a happy ending. It was hard, but he was trying hard to believe it, and he was sure Scully felt the same.

He had spent years trying to imagine what was on her mind, reading between the lines, interpreting the meanings behind each and every word, basically trying to understand her language so he could one day become fluent in Scully. And the day had finally come when he was, if not completely fluent, then at least able to communicate in Scully, especially because they were communicating with words a lot more these days, saying things that were on their minds, talking about their relationship using clear words instead of riddles that made each other's heads spin at times. It was why he knew Scully wanted to believe calmer times were ahead of them too, because she had said it aloud once. He could feel they were making progress, and together this time.

Against all odds and against all hope, they had made it through a long and dark winter and had found their way back to each other. He wished Maggie were here too see it, because he knew she was their greatest supporter, she was the one who had always been there whenever any of them needed her, she had always been the one telling both of them that their love was too big to be discarded like that. As always, she had been right. She would have been happy to see them back together.

He also wished Melissa were here to see it because, after all, she had been the one to plant the seed back then, the one who had told him he should visit her sister at the hospital when she was dying that first time to tell her how he felt, that by doing so he would also come to terms with his own feelings. He guessed she would have been happy to see their relationship start and flourish. She also would have kicked his ass many times, he was certain of that too. He wished he could have known Melissa better.

He smiled for a while, before thinking about who else he wished were here to experience their love as well.

William.

It still hurt every time he thought of him, every time he closed his eyes and images of the smoking man shooting him appeared vividly inside his eyelids. He had once again been unable to protect his son. His son had chosen to die instead of continuing to be a lab rat, much like he would have done if he were in his place. No matter what lies his biological father had told Skinner or Scully, he could see himself in William a lot more than just the similar height and hair color. William had his genes. William was his son. No one would ever be able to convince him otherwise. He might not have raised him, but he carried him in his heart for 17 years, hoping that one day they would reunite. That counted for something, right?

He knew Scully felt the same, even though she had acted really out of character when she heard of William's death, leaving him confused and shocked for a moment. What had happened to the woman who had mourned their son for 16 years? Why was she saying that she was never a mother to him when she had spent just as much time as he had thinking about their son and dreaming of the day when she would be able to hold him once again? Didn't she understand that 16 years of caring and worrying and dreaming about someone who wasn't physically present also made him real? Didn't she understand that it didn't matter if he was an experiment or not? The only explanation he had for her behavior when all that happened was that she was in shock, that she was trying to come up with reasons for her brain to keep on working, for her lungs to keep on breathing and for her heart to keep on beating. Because she needed her organs to keep functioning, because there was another life depending on her now and she couldn't just give up.

She didn't have to say it all to him, he saw it in the tears that rolled freely out of her eyes and down her face, he saw it in the chuckle she let out between sobs. She wanted to weep for their lost child; she wanted to laugh for their new one; she wanted to pretend that all of that was not happening, but she knew she couldn't because reality was reminding her that life had to go on regardless of any pain, that life would always go on without asking if you're ready to go on as well or not.

While hugging her tightly that night and rocking her in his arms in that way he knew calmed her, he understood that her reaction might be out of character for her, but it also might be just another one of the layers he had vowed to uncover all those years ago, when the stars in her eyes shone brighter than the stars in the sky above them, another layer he didn't know because it was probably a layer that was new to her too, a layer that she had to create in order to cope with life. After all, wasn't that what everyone else did?

He found it almost poetic that after 25 years there were still things about each other they didn't know, things that they helped awaken in each other, things they didn't even know themselves they had, things that were dormant just waiting to become alive at the right time.

He had been seeing a lot of her different layers lately, and he loved the feeling of these new discoveries.

At that thought, he looked over at her again, observing her serene features, a small smile pinned on her face as she turned the page of her book. She seemed happy. Her face was glowing, his heart was swelling. He couldn't help smiling.

He noticed her eyes stopped moving and he wondered if it was because she was thinking of something else or if it was because he had been caught staring. He was pretty sure it was the latter and that she would make fun of him in no time, for the movement of her lips told him she was trying to hide either a grin or a chuckle.

"Go ahead, woman. Mock me for not being able to take my eyes off you."

She looked back at him, her smile taking over her face, showing her clear amusement, but she shook her head and her words surprised him.

"It is good to feel loved like this again."

He smiled back at her, wondering if she could see the love radiating through and from him. He hoped she did. He hoped she knew that she would never have to use the word 'again' in a sentence like that because there wouldn't be another separation. This time was forever, he could feel it. He could feel it on that day when she whispered in his ear that she wanted to move on from their turbulent past, that she wanted to find their son, that she wanted to walk the remaining miles of their road together, that she was ready to accept him with all his broken parts, obsessions and conspiracy theories. He could feel it was forever on that day when she had come back home.

She had come back home to a mature version of him, to a mature version of herself, to a mature version of their lives, to a house that looked the same but that carried so much baggage itself it was almost as if it had also matured. It felt cozier, more familiar, more comfortable. Or maybe it was just the fact that the house was just an ordinary, unremarkable house without her and it only felt like home when she was in it.

She would always be his home, the only home he would ever know.

A random thought crossed his mind and he almost laughed at himself for going that far, but what would she think if he asked her to marry him now? Would it be too out of character for them? Maybe, but then again, everyone was allowed to be out of character sometimes, right? They had played with the idea of getting married once, in a bar in a nameless town, with a ring he had bought on a whim and that didn't necessarily mean anything, but that held promises of a better future. She wore it sometimes when they were pretending to be married, but with time it just got forgotten in a drawer somewhere and they had never talked about it again. Maybe a traditional wedding or marriage really wasn't for them, but maybe…

He bit his lower lip and she chuckled, making him realize he was looking at her the whole time he was lost in his thoughts, that her eyes had done that thing again, that thing they did most, that thing that reminded him of dancing to the sound of Cher and of the first night they spent together after she helped him escape from prison. Her eyes had stopped time once again and he was staring into them, as if the world began and ended right there, as if infinity was what held them together.

She turned her eyes to her book again, and he couldn't help wrapping his right arm around her shoulder and bringing her closer to him, his lips kissing her temple before her head lay on his shoulder and she got comfortable in there. He could get used to this, to this comfort of not owing the world anything, of not having to keep uncovering truths and living his life chasing after monsters. He realized now that this was a new layer of himself he didn't know existed, that she had awakened in him another good thing that might define their future. Maybe he should write that book now, the one he had started writing once, the one that could immortalize his fondest memories and help him let go of a past that didn't belong to him anymore, a past that needed to remain in the past. Letting go was something he had been doing a lot lately, and he was even surprising himself. They had been fired once again and, this time, he hadn't tried to get his job back. He also hadn't tried to go after William when his body wasn't found in the waters of that river. He was learning to let go because Scully asked him to, because Scully somehow brought peace to his restless mind regarding that topic. He had his suspicions about the truth behind his son's death, he sometimes suspected Scully was hiding something from him, but he didn't dwell much in those thoughts. He was learning to let go for his sake, for Scully's sake, for William's sake and for their little baby girl, who hadn't been born yet but who he already loved more than anything.

Scully gasped suddenly and, before he could realize what was happening, his hand was on her belly, her hand around his wrist holding it in place. He had felt the baby move quite a lot over the past couple of months, but he never got tired of it. He had told Scully the first time the baby moved that he wanted to feel her every time he could, that he didn't want to miss out on everything he had missed with William. It had been a bittersweet moment that day, as it inevitably brought back memories none of them liked to have, but they comforted each other the best way they could. So every time the baby kicked or moved now, Scully guided his hand to her belly. It had almost become a routine.

He laughed in amazement now as the baby seemed to kick his hand, almost as if she knew it was his hand in there, as if she was trying to communicate with him. He replied to her communication by replacing his hand with his lips and kissing the spot she was kicking. He lingered in there, saying a silent prayer of gratitude. He might not believe in God, but he believed in life, in Scully, and in miracles. He had seen too many miracles at this point to not believe them.

He removed his lips from Scully's clothed belly and put his hand there again, rubbing it in slow circles where he had just felt the baby's foot or whatever body part it was she was shoving against her mother's womb and into his hand. Scully's hand covered his and she caressed it slowly, reminding him of that day when they were chased by robots because they didn't leave a tip and how they ended up having a date at a diner, and how she had covered his big hand with her small one, bringing him back to the reality of what really mattered just with that touch.

He had so many stories to tell their daughter that he sometimes imagined she would be able to write a book herself from all the stories he wouldn't write in his. Had he ever told Scully about this?

"I can't wait to tell the baby all about the time robots tried to make me eat a blobfish."

She chuckled.

"Just promise me you won't tell her anything about flukeman until she's old enough to not have nightmares about it."

He smiled, taking his eyes off her belly and looking into her eyes again, her face beaming at him, as if the sun itself rose and set on that face every day. His mouth spoke before his brain could process anything.

"Marry me."

She laughed. A hearty laugh that reminded him of the hearty laugh that had won his heart on a rainy night in Oregon, a hearty laugh he wasn't expecting to hear in response to a marriage proposal. Maybe he wasn't so fluent in Scully after all.

He chuckled, a little self-conscious.

"Bad idea?"

He waited for an answer in silence, an embarrassed smile still on his face, and he watched as her face went from 'you're so funny' to 'wait…'. He knew what was coming.

She arched an eyebrow and her expression changed, only a half-smile remaining on her face, questioning.

"You're serious?"

Her voice was a little louder than it was before, a little too high-pitched, her focus on the last word to imply it was a question rather than a statement sounding as if she was surprised. He wondered if that was a good sign.

He shrugged and then sat up straight, removing his hand from her belly and averting his gaze to somewhere in the vast infinitude of nothing that was the landscape of their house.

"We can wait until after she's born, maybe until she's old enough to be our flower girl. Or maybe we could just make it formal without an actual wedding ceremony. Or maybe we don't need to get married at all if you don't want to, I just…"

He would have continued his ramblings forever if she hadn't interrupted him.

"Mulder?"

He looked at her again, already sensing she was going to say no.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice.

As her tongue slid past his lips, he remembered the first time they kissed like that, just some days after the turn of the millennium, a promise of new beginnings back then, just as much as this kiss felt right now. He caressed her nape slowly, thinking of how many possibilities they still had ahead of them and how many more memories they could create together.

He had spent a lifetime wishing for time machines, for an X-File that would reveal to him the secret of going back in time and fixing whatever had gone wrong in their lives, but he realized now that the real secret was not to fix anything in the past, but to make a present he could be proud of, a present that would lead to a better future.

He let go of her lips slowly and then opened his eyes, watching as she smiled and tried to communicate a million emotions with just the movement of her own eyes.

"Is that a yes?" He asked.

"Yes, that's a yes," she replied in a calm voice, but with a grin that wouldn't leave room for interpretation – she was happy. She was truly happy. She placed her hand on her belly again because, as if on cue, the baby had started moving again. "I think the baby likes the idea too."

"How long are we going to call her 'the baby'?"

Scully chuckled again.

"Until we've come up with a unique name. Or at least with something that is not a reference to a sci-fi movie."

It was his turn to chuckle.

Despite all the loss and pain he had had to endure in the past years, and despite the void he still felt because of William, he was also truly happy again.

The relationship that had started with a 'Maybe, just maybe' had now become a certainty once and for all. He had once told her that maybe there was hope, but right now he knew that maybes would always turn into certainties when they were meant to be.

She moved her hand to his thigh and squeezed it, before turning to her side and taking the book she had abandoned there when the baby kicked the first time.

Before she could start reading again, he spoke up the last part of his thoughts, the part that could either mean he was referring to their choosing a name or to their future. Double meanings never stopped with them, even after they had learned each other's language so well.

"There is hope."

She smiled at him and then leaned into his shoulder once again, sighing contently and then starting to read from where she had stopped.

Being almost fluent in Scully now, he knew that meant they believed the same thing. She too believed there was hope.

 _ **Author's note:**_

 _ **Thank you all SO MUCH for reading and following me on this journey. I probably wouldn't have gotten halfway through it if it weren't for all your comments, kudos and support.**_

 _ **I didn't want to say goodbye to this fic because it was my first "big" creation, but there will be more related to this story coming soon. =D**_

 _ **I would also love to hear what you thought of this chapter and of this story in general, so comments are very much appreciated.**_

 _ **Thanks again and I look forward to hearing from you.**_


End file.
